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artificial-transmutations · 1 year ago

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Your wish is my command

People knew when James approached pretty soon. Even with his 31 years, he still pretty much looked - and behaved - like the popular high school boy he used to be. He was loud, obnoxious and always surrounded by a group of friends - mostly his male buddies, but from time to time also one of his cardboard cutout girlfriends.

With his youthful looks and beautiful face, it wasn't very difficult for him to find a new girl - a fact he well knew and exploited. So, in general, his relationships rarely lasted longer than a few weeks or months until James got tired of his current girlfriend and dumped her for a new one.

Cathrine was one of them, a brunette smart girl who got picked up by James four weeks ago. Even though she quickly fell for him for his good looks and natural charm, she slowly felt annoyed by his constant bragging and immature behavior. However, she had agreed to let the group of friends hang out in her grandmother's antique shop this evening, a decision she started to regret already.

"Hey, look at these things. These are pretty weird, aren't they? What's this even supposed to be?"

"That's a gargoyle. They usually guard churches or the like. Or are supposed to bring luck." Cathrine explained.

"Hah! Bring luck. More like bringing ugliness. How is anyone supposed to see luck in that, huh?" James laughed and prodded the figure.

Catherine grimaced. "Honey, please don't touch anything. I had to promise grandma that nothing would be broken."

"Relax, Cathy, everything's fine! I'm not gonna break anything. Hey, do you think grandma would miss one of her creepy statues?"

"James, please!"

"Okay okay", he joked and looked around the shelves before something caught his eye.

"Hey, guys, check this out!"

He quickly stepped closer and, ignoring Catherines sigh, took the object from the blue pillow it was placed on.

"Cool! Is that a magic lamp, like from Aladdin?" he asked. Really, the brass object looked like a prop from the film. An old-fashioned oil lamp, with an oriental flair to it.

"Please, be careful with that. I don't know much about it, but I know it's an antique and really expensive."

"Yeah, yeah", James waved her off and continued to examine the lamp. By now his friends had gathered around him to watch. Giving them a show, he rubbed the lamp theatrically, but of course, nothing happened. Nevertheless, it brought him cheers and hollers from his buddies.

"The genie is just shy!", one of them joked.

"Oh, a shy one? Perhaps it's a genie lady that just needs some proper motivation?" James immediately agreed.

He raised the lamp to his face and made a kiss-face. "Don't be shy, miss genie! Oh, what is that?"

He held the lamp to his ear as if he was listening to a voice from inside.

"You want me too... what? Oh, you're being naughty miss genie! But I'm not complaining; your wish is my command!"

With that, James lowered the lamp to his groin and held it in front of his package. When he began humping the brass object, his buddies were already laughing tears. Catherine was a little annoyed on how immature James acted but couldn't help but smile as well.

What happened next, however, came as a surprise, not only for James but for Catherine and the guys, too:

In the span of seconds, James' body became engulfed in blue smoke. No, that wasn't exactly right: A more precise description was that James' body *became* blue smoke. It began at his hands, holding the lamp and quickly spread up his arms. The brass oil lamp fell to the ground as the blue smoke that had once been James' hands had not enough substance anymore to hold it.

But even dropping the item didn't stop the process. His entire upper body was turning into the ethereal blue smoke.

"Guys... Guys! What's happening?", he yelled out, but his buddies had no idea either. They were watching, perplexed, as James' body began dissolving. After a few moments, only smoke remained where moments before, James had been standing. Then, suddenly, the smoke was being sucked into the lamp, leaving James' friends and girlfriend behind in shock.

James found himself floating in twilight. He had been caught completely off-guard by his body dissolving into smoke, and he didn't have time to react or run away then. Now there was just... nothing around him. Gray twilight, and apparently no gravity surrounded him. There was some sort of light and air, but this world he now floated in lacked any point of reference whatsoever.

James checked his body, but apparently, it was alright. No sign of the blue smoke, just his regular body was hanging suspended in nothingness.

"Hello? Guys?", he tried, but nobody answered.

"Guys! Where are you?", he shouted out again, but the gray space just swallowed his words.

Suddenly, a tingling feeling ran over his body. When he looked down again, he noticed his clothes one by one fading away, until all that was left on him was his pair of underwear.

"What the fuck is happening to me?", he mumbled, a bit panicked.

The strange feeling he had only intensified however, as his very body was changing - again. However, this time, it didn't dissolve into smoke. Instead, it felt like his skin was stretching - or rather, the amount of his body was stretching. His limbs were growing and thickening, while his torso widened. At the same time, his skin became darker, reminding him more and more of a middle eastern heritage rather than his usual fair complexion.

His chest and arms ballooned out with muscle. It wasn't like he had been skinny or scrawny before - but now he didn't just look fit - he began to look more and more like a sort of body builder - one of those muscle bulls you only saw in TV or in the gym. His six-pack was becoming more visible, and his shoulders stretched wide and broad.

His legs, too, thickened and swelled, but that wasn't all. His thighs grew not just wide, but thick as well, and his calves became almost disproportionately large. Above all else, hair began to spread on his now darker skin. But it wasn't the blonde hair James was used to having on his head - it was coarse and thick hair that was dark and clearly visible on his muscular chest and arms.

At the same time, his haircut changed. While the hair on his head turned black as well, it became stylish, yet unlike anything James had tried before. The sides buzzed short and the top gelled up, he was beginning to look more and more like a young Arab hunk, perhaps from the Iran. As if on cue, dark stubble set in and covered his chin that was becoming squarer by the minute. James didn't have a mirror, but his fingers were exploring his new facial features in disbelief. As a final treat, his boxer shorts morphed into a tight pair of a simple blue fabric underwear that filled out as his manhood began to take more and more place, leaving behind his previous pretty average bulge and settling on a huge, almost obscene size.

The changes had finally stopped and James found himself suspended in the gray, twilight world, confused, scared, and sporting a very new look. He had never thought of himself as attractive before, but the changes he had just gone through had made him a prime stud.

However, he hardly had time to react, as he felt a pulling sensation all through his being. The scenery changed and he found himself back in the shop - but now, he was somehow floating a bit off the ground and looked down to one of his buddies, Greg, who held the lamp in his hand and had apparently just rubbed it.

"Whoa!", Greg exclaimed. "Who are you?"

"Guys, it's me, James!" James answered. "I somehow got sucked into the lamp thing and now your wish is my command, master."

A moment of silence followed and James realized what he just said. Despite his impressive muscular new body, the last words, which he had not meant to say at all, had sounded respectful and submissive.

"What is this bullshit? Who are you and what are you talking about?" Greg asked.

"I'm... I'm James" James stuttered. "And, apparently, your wish is my command. Just say 'I wish' and I will make your heart’s desire come true."

Again, James had only partial control over what he was saying. The last part had come out without him meaning to.

Greg was taken aback somewhat. "I wish...? I dunno. You're pretty gay like that!"

James only realized what was happening as he felt a mighty surge of power move through his body and heard himself say: "And so it shall be."

Did Greg just wish for James to be gay?! Luckily nothing seemed to be happening, until all heads turned as Catherine exhaled a low surprised moan.

James watched in horror as now her body was changing. Her breast flattened in a matter of seconds and her hair shortened to a stylish men's cut. At the same time, her body widened and her shoulders became broad. Her skin became rougher and little hairs spread all over her body. By the moment, her clothes were becoming too tight on a lot of places and too loose on some others. Catherine's face became a masculine version of itself, just like it would look like if she had been born a boy. Her nose was now strong and prominent, and her jawline was becoming stronger. Her face, too, was covered with a dark stubble that continued down her neck a bit before stopping at about where her now pronounced Adam's apple sat. When she let out another shocked noise, it was at least an octave lower than before.

Her new lean masculine look was completed by a bulge in her pants that quickly filled out with the last part of her new distinctively male anatomy.

At first, James had hated to watch Catherine's... No, Kit's feminine features melt away like that. But the longer he watched the better Kit looked, James decided. When his new cock popped into existence, James even felt himself get a bit hard from watching his lover. Kit was his soulmate, his one true love. James didn't care how gay it was - he liked men - and this man especially.

He turned back to Greg with mixed feelings. On the one hand, he was happy about having Kit, but on the other hand, he was horrified about what was happening to him. He needed to beg him to stop!

But instead, all that came out was: "You have two wishes left, master."

Check out this awesome writer as well!

If you like my stories, you can use my riot page as a tip jar. There will only be tiny bits of exclusive content there, though, so it's mainly just that - a tip jar :)

#male transformation #straight to gay #muscle transformation #racial transformation

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stalkerofthegods · 1 year ago

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Lady Hestia Deep Dive

Lady Hestia is a wonderful goddess, she is always there for everyone, I adore Lady Hestia, I do not worship her personally but I know well that she is Amazing.

Herbs • Chaste trees, Rosemary, Parsley, Basil, Sorrel, vanilla, Cinnamon, coriander, Marjoram, Mint, Lemon balm, cloves, clary sage, Allspice, Angelica, Coriander, poppy seed, chamomile, Angelica, Bay, garlic, mint, peppermint, pepper, marjoram, The lavender, the chaste tree, the datura, the California poppy, the goldenrod, the hollyhock, the yarrow, the purple coneflower, all white flowers, Lavender, White roses, angel’s trumpet, goldenrod, hollyhock, and yarrow, pine, Wildflowers & sunflowers, raspberry leaves, sage, pearly everlasting, yellow rose

Animals• pigs, donkeys, one-year-old cows, a Crane.

Zodiac & scared number • unknown, I cannot find out what month she was born on, or the day. But I would associate numbers 1, and 6 because she is the oldest and the youngest (and etc, but who even likes my rambles?)

Colors •Gold, yellow, orange, red, White, Gold, Lavender, light purple, black, silver, and dark red

Crystal•Carnelian, Garnet, Goldstone, Calcite, Topaz, garnet, amethyst, lapis lazuli, green tourmaline, Vanadinite, Quartz, gold, silver, and brass, Amber colored crystals, citrine, clear quartz, sunstone.

Symbols• a kettle, the hearth (fireplace), torch, candle

Jewelry you can wear in their honor• friendship bracelets

Diety of• the virgin goddess of the home and hearth fire, cooking of meals, and sacrificial food for feasts, architecture, domesticity, family, and the state, and sacrificial flame

Patron of where the families ate and congregated, hospitality, family.

Offerings• give her prayer beads that remind you of her that are not Christian (or make one, which is better), wooden beads, Oil Lamps, Seven Day Candles (because they burn for 7 days), LED Candles, A Candle that reminds you of home, White or red candles, Apple juice, cider, Wine, Baked goods, keys to the home (preferably not stolen(looking at Hermes devotees))), Small kitchen antiques/objects, pottery/cups/bowls, artwork of homey things, a meal, your favorite things, poetry, books, items you made, fall-themed stuff, spring-themed stuff, First/last foods & libations from a meal, Candles/flame, Honey, Pork, Cakes or Cookies made to look like one of Her symbols,), Keeping a candle/hearth fire or lamp constantly burning, Pictures of homes you want to live in one day, pictures of homes you have lived in, Pictures of architecture that you like, Teacups, teaspoons, tea towels, Childhood memories (ex- stuffed toys, baby clothes, old photos), Homegrown herbs, Toys or art of donkeys and pigs, Leaves or blooms from a chaste tree, Tea light candles (real or fake), Your favorite poetry or poetry you have written for Her, Your favorite books, Stories you have written, Art of flames, fire, candles, Garmets that you have made such as clothing, blankets, beanies, Homemade lotions, bath bombs, shower gel, bubble bath (You can ask Her to bless them then use them she probably won't say no), Beeswax products, honey, olive oil, pumpkin pie

Devotional• Pick up rubbish in communal areas, Offer the first or last bites/portions of food your to her, Cooking/baking for yourself or others, Having a candle lit whenever possible (electric or real), playing a video of a fire place, Volunteerring at homeless or DV shelters, donating to homeless or DV shelters, Setting healthy boundaries with friends and family, reading about Tea/Coffee magick, Getting involved with your local community, Advocating for policies you believe will better the community Allowing yourself to rest, Do a chore you've been putting off for a long time, organize to hang out with some loved ones, Veil or bind your hair, Wear something red or orange, Make a devotional playlist for her, make a Pinterest board or a mood board for her, Learn about kitchen witchery, Cook a meal in her name, Clean the House, Put together a puzzle, Eat popcorn and watch a movie, do Knitting, read about knitting, donate yarn and

knitting supply’s, prepare food for family, make the table before eating, garden, Harvest berries, pick flowers, Donate to food charity/drives, Support people who lost their homes to natural disasters, Welcoming others into your home, Keeping the peace (especially in the home), Donations of time & money to Habitat for Humanity, Do little (or big) acts of kindness, If you have a fireplace light it for Her or build Her altar around it, Meditate next to a fire, Read poetry or a book, play a playlist for Her and play it while you clean or cooks, Clean your house/room and keep it nice and tidy, Take a cooking or baking class, Collect recipes and keep a recipe book, Host celebrations at your home, Remember your ancestors and learn more about them, Spend time with your pets, Take care of yourself and your mental and physical health (Your body is a home for you), Take a hot bath, eat some ice cream, chill at home for a day, Pray to Her( ex- for protection, inspiration, happiness, guidance, and help getting rid of negative entities in the home, peace in the home, good food, an abundance of food, independence), help to start/tending to the hearth, work on having strong family bonds, Open your curtains and let the sunlight warm the room, Make a potful of tea and keep it in a large thermos, Watch movies that make you feel nostalgic and cozy, Say goodnight and good morning to her, Get an electric blanket and feel the warmth connect you to her, Cuddle a stuffed animal, Make a blog/journal filled with cozy homely things, Keep a few locally baked goodies nearby for when you need them, String up fairy lights and use them as your only light source, Whisper prayers and devotional pieces before you go to sleep, Use a Himalayan salt lamp to connect to feeling of a fire, Invest in little things (ex- pillowcases, photos, curtains) that make your room feel welcoming and peaceful, Make a little bottle filled with herbs and crystals and other things that remind you of her, Listen to music that makes your soul happy and your heart content, Take care of yourself (ex- Brush your hair, use a wet cloth on your face), Keep a tealight on you, Clean one small area of your house, Savor a hot drink, Do small, unnoticed acts of kindness, Always greet animals (both big and small), Do anything by candlelight, Wear colors you associate with her, Practice your patience (both external and internal), Be a listening ear or shoulder to cry on for those who need it, Make compromises when it is healthiest for both parties, always have a lighter or matches, Listen to music that reminds you of her, Spend time tending to your body, Leave a big tip the next time you have a chance, Practice kindness in all areas of your life (including driving), Take a hot bath or shower with no time limit, Decorate a space, Build a fire, Compliment people (both strangers and loloved ones), Donate something (ex-clothes, money, or your time), Look at photos and embrace the happy nostalgia, Wear makeup or jewelry that reminds you of her, Wake up early to see the sunrise - or watch the sunset, Watch/read about acts of kindness to be inspired, wear prayer beads that are for her, go to a high school reunion, do a family reunion, do budgeting in her honor, do meal planning, set healthy boundaries, have a household notebook, do seasonal cleaning, try home remedies,As you light your gas stove, say a prayer to Hestia, Spend quiet quality time at home, Gather your family (including your chosen family) for a festive candlelit meal, Commit to spending more time with children and old people.

Ephithets•Äídios - eternal, Aïdius – See Äídios., Basileia - See Vasíleia, Bulaea - See Voulaia., Chloömorphus – See Khlöómorphos, Daughter of lovely-haired Rǽa, Khlöómorphos - verdan, Polýmorphos - multi-formed, Polyolbus – See Polýolvos, Polýolvos - rich in blessings, Potheinotáti - beloved, Prutaneia – See Prytaneia, Prytanei, Vasíleia - queen, Voulaia - of the council, Prytaneia -”of the Prytanis.”

Equivalents• Vesta (Roman), loki (Norse), Brigid (Celtic), Hathor (Egyptian)

Signs they are reaching out• having a strong urge to Vail in her honor, seeing her animals and symbols in your dreams, and seeing her imagery a lot, everything at home suddenly going well.

Vows/omans• that she “would be a maiden all her days”

Morals• morally light/pure

Courting• None

Past lovers/crushes• None

Personality• She avoids drama, and is generous, but her temper is volcanic in nature, she is slow to anger, but when she gets angry her rage is a force of nature. She is modest, tranquil, and industrious

Home• Mount Olympus

Mortal or immortal • immortal

Fact• Historically she is supposed to be the first deity offered to in a ritual due to being the goddess of fire, she's the oldest Olympian, She is spat out last by Kronos so she is also the youngest, she shares her seat with Diyonisus, she did not give it up, she receives a share of every sacrifice/prayer to the gods, and she is commonly seen alongside with Hermes, I would recommend putting their alters close together.

Element• fire

Curses• a bad family life, food being burnt, having not enough food, being turned away at restaurants, being homeless, your house catching on fire

Blessings• all domestic happiness and blessings

Roots• Greek mythology….and she was raised in her father's stomach, and at the first years of theogony era.

Friends• all of the gods, but most notably Hermes, but is not friends with Priapus, she dislikes him (he tried to rape her.)

Parentage• Cronus and Rhea

Siblings• Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades, Demeter, Hera

Pet• she has no pets.

Children • she has no children.

Appearance in astral or gen• she was typically represented wearing a veil and robe. In some images, she held a flowering branch or kettle as well.

Festivals • None, at every feast and meal a liberation was made to her name first and last, but I associate Thanksgiving with her, but her Roman counter part Vesta has 1-15 June of each year, an then another festival celebrated on 8-9 July. Hestia is also mentioned on 8 June. But a neo-pagan sets aside 26 December – 22 January as a month devoted to Hestia.

Status• Virgin theoi goddess.

What disrespects her turning away people at your home (she is a goddess of hospitality and it was seen as disrespectful to her to do so.)

Planet• unknown

Her Tarot cards• the Temperance, the fourteenth Major Arcana card.

Remind me of• Hot cocoa, and Thanksgiving.

Scents/Inscene • Lavender, Rose, spring water, rain, Pumpkin, Apple pie, cinnamon, fall leaves, Chamomile, Myrrh, Frankincense, Iris, Angelica, Peony, Angelica, iris, Sandalwood

My opinion • I like her, but I'm scared of her too. (what a shocker!)

Prayers•

Historical-

Holy Queen of Sanctity, we hymn you, Hestia, whose abiding realm is Olympus and the middle point of earth and the Delphic laurel tree! You dance around Apollo’s towering temple rejoicing both in the tripod’s mantic voices and when Apollo sounds the seven strings of his golden phorminx and, with you, sings the praises of the feasting gods. We salute you, daughter of Kronos and Rhea, who alone brings firelight to the sacred altars of the gods; Hestia, reward our prayer, grant wealth obtained in honesty; then we shall always, dance around your glistening throne.

For the lost -

Blessed Hestia, the first and the last, and the always flame. May your light burn bright and strong, May your prayers be those of respect and love, May you guide the lost, And give to those who have nothing. I give thanks to you, Hestia, for all that you have done And continue to do.

For people with intrusive thoughts -

I ask Hestia, the kind goddess, to help those who feel down. May they find comfort and peace inside of their homes and inside their own minds. Protect them for their destructive thoughts, and be the safe place they need so much

A prayer for homeles—

In Hestia’s name, may you always have a home and a roof over your head. May you always be comfortable and warm with a full belly. May you always be in good spirits and good company, never knowing the pervading loneliness that envelopes the soul.

Morning

Blessed Hestia, Fill this home with your light and bounty, As the day fills it with golden sunshine.

Evening

Glorious Hestia, Let your hearth fire warm this house, As night draws her shadowed cloak over it now.

Blessings of the kitchen-

Hestia bless my little kitchen, I love it’s every nook And bless me as I do my work, Wash pots and pans and cook. May the meals that I prepare, Be seasoned from above, With thy blessings and thy grace, But most of all thy love

Links/websites/sources •

ts-witchy-archive, constantly-disheveled, saryoak, eldritchhorror06, https://twelfthremedy.tumblr.com/post/625205765818515456/hestia-offerings/amp, https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/179727039352/offerings-to-hestiahttps://twelfthremedy.tumblr.com/post/625205765818515456/hestia-offerings/amphttps://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/179727039352/offerings-to-hestiahttps://www.learnreligions.com/hestia-greek-goddess-of-the-hearth-2561993#:~:text=Keep%20a%20candle%20dedicated%20to,prayers%2C%20songs%2C%20or%20hymns.https://www.theoi.com/Ouranios/Hestia.html#:~:text=In%20myth%20Hestia%20was%20the,youngest%20of%20the%20six%20Kronides.https://www.theoi.com/Ouranios/Hestia.htmlhttps://greekmythology.fandom.com/wiki/Hestia#google_vignettehttps://greekmythology.fandom.com/wiki/Hestiahttps://greekgodsandgoddesses.net/goddesses/hestia/https://www.hellenicgods.org/festivals-of-hellenismos---eortai https://hestiasservant.wordpress.com/2018/05/27/honoring-hestia-a-festival-every-day/https://www.elissos.com/the-family-goddess-hestia-mother-of-all-gods/#:~:text=The%20birth%20of%20Hestia%20dates,to%20his%20throne%2C%20his%20children.https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rhea_(mythology)#:~:text=According%20to%20Hesiod%2C%20Rhea%20had,and%20Zeus%20in%20that%20order.https://www.reddit.com/r/pagan/comments/14sy8cj/is_hestia_reaching_out_to_me/https://mythopedia.com/topics/hestia

http://persephoneandhecate.blogspot.com/2011/06/exploring-archetypes-hestia.html?m=1https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/170063420188/bedridden-devotion-to-hestiahttps://honeyandhestia.tumblr.com/post/170063420188/bedridden-devotion-to-hestiahttps://www.tumblr.com/heatherwitch/160613514230/hestiavesta https://constantly-disheveled.tumblr.com/post/156636591525/can-a-hearth-fire-just-be-a-candle-that-you-lighthttps://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/169551188078/devotional-activities-for-hestiahttps://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/167758105763/jar-to-help-me-connect-to-hestia-chamomilehttps://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/171225676313/burn-herbs-and-spices-as-an-offering-to-hestia-i https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/183383795283/what-kind-of-crystals-would-yall-associate-with https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/171208375440/a-historical-prayer-to-hestiahttps://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/169394109439/i-ask-hestia-the-kind-goddess-to-help-those-who https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/166938581678/if-youre-still-doing-prayer-requests-may-you-be https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/178225408393/lady-hestia-goddess-of-comfort-and-warmth-to https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/183772520921/a-little-kitchen-prayer-for-hestia https://www.hellenicgods.org/festivals-of-hellenismos---eortai

I use resources, I do not own the info, and most deep dives have UPG (that I use in my work.) And I only take some information from sources. I am 14, this is my hobby, I am learning but I spent many hours and days on this, and I am always open to criticism. I have been doing worship for 5 years. Please know you can use the info, I do not sue, but I will take action if this work is used without permission and not put as a resource if used in any work. without permisson and not put as a resource if used in any work, for the public.

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themoonweaversden · 3 months ago

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Messeges that were found so far: STAN / STANLEY PINES / STAN PINES / STANLEY (spoilers)

This is just to collect all the codes that you can type in in thisisnotawebsitedotcom.com and their effects only (please click images for better quality)

Masterpost with all messeges / codes

You have to keep spamming it to get all of these links

Eventually you'll get this:

Transcript:

"WHEEL! OF! SHAME!

STEP RIGHT UP! It's time to play my FAVORITE GAME!! BOOTLEG SIXER over HERE spent a LIFETIME trying to hide his humiliations, BUT I'VE BEEN INSIDE HIS MIND, so NOW they're ALL YOURS for the low price of BEING MY NEW PAL! IT'S SHOWTIME FOLKS, AND THE ONLY WAY TO LOSE IS TO BE NAMED STANLEY PINES! CLICK BELOW TO SEE WHAT THIS MOUTH BREATHING CARNIVAL BAKER HAS BEEN KEEPING TO THE VEST ALL THESE YEARS. BROUGHT TO YOU BY: SHAME!

"SHAME:™ IT'S THE ONE FRIEND WHO NEVER LEAVES!"

EX-WIVES!

FEARS

SECRET SHAMES

UNREPORTED CRIMES

FAILED PRODUCTS

LOWEST MOMENTS

DARKEST THOUGHT

HOW HE BEAT ME"

If you click EX-WIVES

Transcript:

"EX-WIVES

Old Goldie Vegas wedding to a cursed gold-toothed antique.

Marilyn Fakenamé Vegas wedding to a cursed gold-toothed antique.

Brenda Chuggins Shack attraction for having "World's Biggest Thumb." (Carny Tip: Never date your own freaks. She used that thumb to hitch-hike off with Johnny Snakes 3 days later)

Sandra Sweetmeadow A kind beautiful Amish girl eho made Stan choose between her and his "sinful gold chains." He chose the chains.

Someone named "Burline" Stan has no idea who she is, but he found her wedding ring in the Shack Lost & Found, put it on, and it got stuck forever. Physically binding. Might be legally binding!

His childhood poster of "Attack of the 50 Foot Woman" (8 year old Stanley drew a ring on the poster and made Sixer witness.)

Natalia Annika Ömanövv Totally un-suspicious turist from a country that no longer legally exists. She took Stanley's creedit card and social security number while he was sleeping and still "checks in on him" via hidden cameras. Ah, love!"

If you click FEARS

Transcript:

"FEARS

The IRS Finding Out

Soos being the one to find Stan dead and taxidermying his body. (Soos would consider this an honor)

The cops calling Stan's fingertips "unusually little."

Betting Dipper in a poker game (and losing.)

Word getting out about Stan's little fingertips, people discovering that they're littler than Ford's.

Stan being dubbed "Baby-Fingers Pines" by the media and having to look into black market finger enlarging."

If you click SECRET SHAMES

Transcript:

"SECRET SHAMES

The time Wendy beat Stan in arm wrestling. 3 times in a row. She never has to work overtime as long as she never tells a soul.

The fact that no one came to his fake funeral except his mom and an IRS agent who whispered to the coffin "this isn't over."

The quick cash Stan made in 1975 posing for a "Hunky Drifters Catalogue" that wasn't as tasteful and classy as the job listing made it sound.

Was the baby mascot for the "Fussy Boy" Brand diaper rash commercials. (Claims that was Ford.)

Writing His Duchess Approves erotic fan-novel: "The Duke's Temptations at Oglebottom Estate.""

If you click UNREPORTED CRIMES

Transcript:

"UNREPORTED CRIMES

The time Stan hit Toby Determined with his car and just... kept driving.

Illegally breeding wolves to create a "super wolf." You should hear this thing howl.

Pretending to be a veteran to get a discount on PEZ, then having to invent an entire fake war in a fake country to keep the ruse going. Stan still has a "Remember Operation Enduring Excuse" bumper sticker, and regularly updates the Wikipedia page for the "People's Grepublic of Grunklestan."

Shooting out the tires of the Mythbusters Van after they axposing him for "looking kinda doughy" on tape.

Selling his heart medication to Children claiming it was "metal-flavored candy!"

Accidentally inhaling too much taxidermy glue, black out, and waking up to discover that he had somehow managed to rob himself. Still tracking down the lost boot buried by his arch-rival "Glue Stan""

If you click FAILED PRODUCTS

Transcript:

"STAN'S FAILED PRODUCTS

The "Wishy Washy!" - A washing machine that somehow makes your clothes dirtier.

The "Counter Fit!" - A rubber band you attach to your kitchen counter to exercise while doing dished. INJURY TOLL: 27

"Welcome to Gravity Town!" - A cartoon show pitch which was unanimously rejected by every network for "blatant Illuminati references."

"Flavored Lottery Tickets!" - Turns out that the kind of people who think they can win the lottery are the kind of people who ignore "do not swallow" instructions. LAWSUIT TOLL: 48

"THE SAD SHACK" - A burlap bag to cover your head so no one can see you rendomly crying during the day. Cheaper than therapy!

A soda called the "Drippy Stanley!" INGREDIENTS: Pine Sol, wood glue, & expired sun tan lotion. Soos tested it and now he can't remember the year 2000."

If you click LOWEST MOMENTS

Transcript:

"LOWEST MOMENTS

That time he somehow got an F- on a history test, which teachers thought was mathematically impossible. Filbrick made him stand on the lawn for two days holding a sign that said "Estra Stan, 3 dollars or better offer."

When "1998's Best Tourist Traps in Oregon" listed the "Mystery Shack" as #99 below "The world's bigest fence" and "the dog that might be thinking human thoughts."

His birthday the year before he met Dipper & Mabel. No one came to "Mr Mystery's Mystery-Age Party & Used Wolf Pet Sale" He'd spent hours writing comedy roasts of employees who never came, burned off one of his eyebrows attempting to make a cake, and drank the night away skeet shooting Sixer's old Beethoven Records.

The day after he met the twins, he overheard them debating whether they should escape out the window and report him to the FBI. Mabel shook a Magic 8-Ball and tey stayed.

Stripping for edible flour in Tijuana Please don't make me elaborate."

If you click DARKEST THOUGHT

Transcript:

"DARKEST THOUGHT

Pin all my crimes on Soos"

If you click HOW HE BEAT ME (You have to keep spamming)

Transcript:

"HOW STAN BEAT ME He didn't! IM STILL HERE, SUCKER!"

Transcript:

"HOW STAN BEAT ME LOOK the gambler got a lucky break, alright? A lifelong LOSER was due for ONE freak royal flush! What does it mean? NOTHING! LESS THAN NOTHING! NOT WORTH EVEN THINKING ABOUT!"

Transcript:

"HOW STAN BEAT ME WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY? That a guy who once tried to EAT THE DECORATIVE POTPURRI out of the bowl in the bank OUTSMARTED ME?! PLEASE! Goofus was just following Gallant's LEAD! It was SIXER'S PLAN, PTSD BARNUM is just a side character, a resume-inflating, cheap trick loving, past-denying overgrown child protected from failure only by a force field of DENIAL AND shamelessness! Sixer ate Stanley's potential in the womb, and the only thing interesting that ever happened to him started when I entered HIS head! END OF STORY! PERIOD. And I have NOTHING MORE TO SAY ABOUT IT!!!!"

Transcript:

"HOW STAN BEAT ME ..."

Transcript:

"HOW STAN BEAT ME AND ANOTHER THING! Ever since that pathetic excuse for a 5-sensed three Dimensional one lifespanned skin-puppet was barfed into the universe, he was nothing but a carbon copy of a better genetic duplicate, and he knew it! A trillion years from now when I've broken out of this place nd taken over, he'll be remembered as the special bump under the cement truck of my inevitable triumph asterisk next to an asterisk next to an asterisk next to an asterisk who would be a joke if he was capable of understanding comedy whehich he OBVIOUSLY isn't, I mean, have you heard the hacky matreials he does on his tours, I've been inside his dreams, he WORKSHOPS that material, he PAVES over it, and the best he can do are some puns that would make a third grader cringe and vaudeville that were hack before they were even invented! Its an insult that showed to wear a suit and tie, he should be in a BARREL with SUSPENDERS!

HACK JOKES. CODEPENDENT. SELF-PITYING STUPID "FULLY CLOTHED WOMEN" COULDNT WIN LOCAL ELECTION SMUG SAS-CROTCH TACKY UNWORTHY CLICHE DREAMS "SINGIN' SALMON" AND THAT'S THE FINAL WORD!"

Transcript for this image in specific taken from this Google doc

Transcript:

"HOW STAN BEAT ME OKAY I SEE WHAT’S HAPPENING HERE! You’re just like those those PREACHY INFANTILZING AUTOMOTONS AT THETHERAPRISM who are SO OBSESSED with getting me to TALK about my “FEELINGS”. YOU THINK YOU CAN GET A RISE OUT OF ME?! TRY! I DARE YOU! I DARE YOU!”

Transcript:

"HOW STAN BEAT ME KEEP CLICKING! SEE WHAT HAPPENS! I CAN OUT-LAST YOU PAL! DO YOU REALIZE WHO YOU’RE STEPPING TO HERE?! IM LITERALLY INSANE! TRY IT! KEEP TRYING IT! I’VE GOT FOREVER, LET’S GO! COME ON! GO! KEEP CLICKING! KEEP DOING IT!”

Transcript:

"HOW STAN BEAT ME KEEP DOING IT!"

Transcript:

"HOW STAN BEAT ME I LOVE IT!"

Transcript:

"HOW STAN BEAT ME IS THAT ALL YOU GOT?!

⚠︎ FLASH WARNING FOR THE FILES BELLOW ⚠︎

Transcript:

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME?!"

Transcript:

"DO Y Ou even fAThoM ho W muCH pAIN IM"

Transcript:

"sOMeTIMES when i CLOSE my eyE i caN"

Transcript:

"I cAN STiLL sEe (encoded in alchemic sipher, author's cipher, theraprism and color cipher (in that order))"

Decoded messege: "The eyes of everyone I've ever"

(last three images)

#bill cipher #book of bill #gravity falls

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godesssiri · 1 year ago

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Thrifting Philosophies 2

Gross is Good

Part of thrifting is that you have to be willing to pick up something that’s dirty and/or damaged and figure out how to clean/repair it. Googling while in-store is a good idea so you can see if the item can be cleaned or repaired and how difficult that process will be so you can make and educated decision on if it’s worth it to buy this one, sometimes things are a simple fix sometimes they’re not. With some things the way to clean or repair it is obvious and with others it takes a lot of research, and you may need to seek advice from an expert or pay an expert to do the work. If you come across something you absolutely love and have no idea how to repair it then seek out people online who also love those items, collectors have a wealth of knowledge and they're always generous with it, there will be someone who can tell you how to repair your item - you just have to find that someone. Sometimes you can bring something fully back to life, I adore wooden treasures because it’s just a matter of a bit of elbow grease and patience to make them glow. I collect seashells, and little wicker peacock chairs that I sit my plants in, and they both often arrive at the thrift store covered in decades worth of dust in all the tiny crevices, again elbow grease and patience work wonders. Or can you live with the damage? Does it matter? Does it actually add to the object? I’ve got a beautiful Italian brass tortoise trinket box, the hinge is broken, the shell lifts off completely rather than swinging open as it was designed to. But you can’t tell that from looking at it and it still functions as a trinket box, I’m happy to live with the damage. I’ve got a lovely figurine of an elephant with a monkey riding on her back, her tusk is broken but I don’t care because that just tells me this old lady has lived a life before she came to me, it feels right that she's missing a tusk. Sometimes wear and tear doesn’t affect the beauty of an object and sometimes it just adds to the history and gravitas of an object. There are times you know you're never going to be able to repair something, it’s just a matter of preservation. I’ve spent ages researching the right kind of leather treatment to safely preserve the covers of my lovely antique books. I know I’ll never get them looking perfect but it’s not about making them look new, it’s about treating them before they crumble to dust and the spine cracks if anyone tries to look at the pages, and preserving them so they survive for another hundred years. I'm also teaching myself how to repair fabric spines that are pealing away and reattach loose covers. There are times when you need to educate yourself in order to become the custodian of an object and learn to take care of it properly so that future generations can enjoy it too.

You are inevitably going to find things in a thrift store that are dirty, broken, scuffed, stained, damaged. People have gotten rid of them for a reason but that doesn't mean they're junk. That just means you need to do a little work in order to own something truly special.

My previous thrift post

#thrifting #thrift shopping #solarpunk #fuck capitalism #eco home #reduce reuse recycle #sustainability

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mxnsterbabe · 1 year ago

Text

Male Werewolf/Female Reader SFW Wordcount: 5,506 Commissions | Ko-fi | Masterlist

While antiquing, you find a locket with a beautiful portrait inside. Thinking they must have sold it by mistake, you track the owner down - only to discover he's much more than you thought.

You walked into the antique shop, greeted by the familiar bell's ring. The air smelled like old books and polished wood, a comforting scent you'd come to associate with the store. It was your Aunt Lucinda's shop, filled to the brim with trinkets from the past. Each item, from the brass candlesticks to the porcelain dolls, held a story.

Aunt Lucinda was right in the thick of it, on her knees in front of boxes filled with new items. Seeing you, she stood up, brushing dust off her knees. "Morning," she said, smiling. "Would you help me with these?"

You laughed and nodded, removing your jacket. "Of course, Aunt Lucinda."

You and Aunt Lucinda were close; she'd raised you after your parents passed away. Together, you shared this love for antiques, each piece a whisper from the past. She was more than just family; she was your friend.

You started with the first box, digging through the assorted items. This was the best part – every object had a story, and discovering it was exciting. You pulled out a clock, a fan, and a tea set, carefully setting them aside.

Then, your hand closed around a small locket. It was beautiful, with intricate designs etched onto its surface. You held the locket up to the light, examining it closer. It was gold, with a delicate chain and a small clasp. The outside was etched with intricate, swirling patterns, the work of a skilled jeweller.

The real beauty was inside. A black and white photo of a woman was tucked safely in it. She was strikingly beautiful with high cheekbones, expressive eyes, and a confident smile. There was something about her that held your gaze, something timeless and captivating, but also strange.

Turning to Aunt Lucinda, you held out the locket. "Look at this, Aunt Lucinda. This feels personal. I think it was sold by mistake."

Lucinda accepted the locket, peering at it with her reading glasses. Her brows furrowed, a soft "Hmm" escaping her lips. "This came in last week," she said, handing it back to you. "It was a man who sold it. A bit awkward, he was. Country accent."

Your curiosity piqued. "Do you remember anything else about him?"

She pondered for a moment, tapping her fingers on a box. "Dark hair, blue eyes. Quite tall. Oh, and he had a bit of a strange look about him."

You rose a brow. “Strange how?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Nothing I could put my finger on, exactly.”

Odd, but there wasn’t a shortage of odd in Pinecoast. "Do you have his contact information?" you asked, hope lacing your voice. "We should ask him about this."

Lucinda nodded, rising from her chair. She had a habit of keeping the contact details of the people who sold to her, at least for a little while. She rummaged through a drawer, finally pulling out a notebook filled with names and numbers. Her finger trailed down the list until it paused. "Here he is," she said, pointing at the name Levi and a phone number next to it.

"Thanks, Aunt Lucinda," you said, holding the locket. "I'll give him a call at lunch.”

With Levi's number saved in your phone, you went back to sorting through the new items. Yet, even as you carefully examined each piece and decided on the markup, your thoughts kept drifting back to the locket.

The antique shop was filled with the usual afternoon bustle. Customers trickled in, attracted by the charm of vintage and history. Aunt Lucinda was at her element, making conversations, sharing stories about the items, and handling transactions with her usual flair.

You, on the other hand, preferred the quieter sanctuary of the backroom, filled with shelves of unsorted items. The room smelled strongly of age and mystery, and every piece in the room was a story yet to be told. It was your favourite part of the shop, a private realm where you could dig into the past without interruptions.

Even amidst the silent company of antiquities, the locket was a constant presence. An insistent whisper in your mind that lured you away from your work. Finally, giving in to your curiosity, you picked up the locket once more.

The woman inside was indeed beautiful. Her features were finely drawn, her expression serene. Her eyes, however, were odd. At first glance, they seemed to be a normal part of the black and white photograph. As you studied the portrait further, you noticed something unusual about her pupils. They were slanted, almost like... an animal's.

A shiver of excitement passed through you. The locket was becoming even more fascinating. The woman in the portrait, so elegant and yet with such peculiar eyes, was a riddle you yearned to solve.

You closed the locket gently, lost in thought. The antique shop carried on its usual pace around you, but for now, you were drawn into the world of the locket. Who was this woman, and what was her story? And, most importantly, what would Levi have to say about it? You decided then and there - you would call him as soon as lunch hour hit.

Time passed at a crawl, but eventually you decided to call Levi. The first attempt went unanswered, his voice message greeting was curt and slightly awkward. You left a brief message and decided to try again later.

The second call was picked up after a few rings. "Hello?" A gruff voice, tinged with a thick country English accent, filled the line.

"Hello, is this Levi?" you asked, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Yeah, this is Levi. Who's this?" His tone was a bit wary, but you caught a note of curiosity there as well.

You gave him your name, smiling even though he couldn’t see it. “I work at the antique shop where you sold some things last week," you explained, keeping your voice steady.

There was a pause, then he said, "Oh, right. How can I help you, then?"

His use of your name sent an unexpected flutter through your stomach. You found his awkwardness charming and somewhat endearing. You took a deep breath and plunged into the reason for your call.

"We found a locket among the items you sold. It has a picture inside," you explained. "It felt... personal. We thought it might have been included by mistake."

Another pause. Then, a sharp intake of breath. "A locket?" he sounded horrified. "Bloody hell, I've been looking everywhere for that. It wasn't meant to go to the shop."

You felt a rush of relief. Your hunch had been right. "I thought so," you said, your tone gentle. "I’m glad I checked."

"Yeah, thanks," he said, sounding genuinely relieved. "I'll swing by tomorrow to collect it."

Suddenly, an idea popped into your head. "Actually, I could drop it off after work," you offered. "If you're not too far, that is."

His surprise was evident. "If you’re sure. I live just outside town, by the woods. Are you sure it wouldn't be a bother?"

"No, not at all," you assured him. "I'll text you for the address later."

"Alright, then. Thank you, Grace," Levi said, sounding deeply grateful.

After hanging up, you found your heart beating faster. The call had gone well. Not only had you connected with the locket's owner, but you also had an opportunity to meet him. The mystery of the locket was one step closer to being solved, and you couldn't help the thrill of anticipation that rushed through you.

***

As the day came to a close, Aunt Lucinda locked the door to the shop, her face aglow with the satisfaction of another day well spent among her beloved antiques. Turning to you, her expression turned serious.

"Promise me you'll be safe, Grace," she said, her voice laced with worry. "It's getting dark and you're heading towards the woods."

You nodded, understanding her concern. "Don't worry, Aunt Lucinda. I'm just dropping off the locket. I'll call you when I get back, alright?"

Lucinda seemed somewhat relieved by your reassurances. "Alright, then. Remember, safety first."

You both walked to your respective cars parked by the shop. As Lucinda drove away, you pulled out your phone to check the address Levi had texted you. It wasn't too far - a house located on the outskirts of town, close to the woods.

As you started your car and began driving, a sense of excitement fluttered in your stomach. This wasn't just about returning a locket anymore. It was about the mystery behind it, the intriguing woman in the portrait, and, now, meeting the man who had unintentionally set you off on this journey - Levi.

The sun was setting as you drove towards the address, casting long shadows across the quiet town. The anticipation of the meeting ahead tingled at the back of your mind. Who was Levi, really? How did the locket come into his possession? What was the story behind the peculiar eyes of the woman in the portrait?

Lost in thought, you didn't realise how quickly time passed until you saw the woods approaching in the distance.

As you followed the winding road towards Levi's address, you noticed how the hustle of the town gradually faded into a serene quiet, replaced by the lush green canopy of the woods. After a few more turns, you arrived at the edge of the road where a quaint cabin-like cottage was nestled.

It was a picturesque sight. The house was an inviting mix of warm wood and weathered stone, framed by tall trees and a carpet of greenery. Wildflowers in a myriad of colours dotted the front yard, blending with climbing vines that adorned the walls and window sills of the cottage. The setting sun cast a soft golden glow over the scene, making the cottage look like a picture straight out of a fairytale.

Feeling an undeniable charm emanating from the place, you got out of your car, taking a moment to breathe in the scent of the woods. The locket, carefully wrapped and tucked into your bag, seemed to thrum with an unspoken story.

Climbing from the car and approaching the door, you pressed the doorbell. The sound echoed slightly inside, followed by a bit of scuffle. A bark followed, high-pitched and excited. Then, the door swung open just as a small corgi rushed past, tail wagging furiously as it sniffed at your feet in enthusiastic greeting.

Standing in the doorway was Levi. He looked just as Aunt Lucinda had described - tall, dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and a lanky yet muscular build. There was a rugged handsomeness about him that you hadn't quite expected.

"Hey," he said, his country accent stronger in person. He flashed an awkward, slightly nervous smile. His eyes, shadows by that dark, messy hair, seemed to hold a hint of surprise, probably at the sight of the corgi greeting a stranger with such affection.

"Sorry about Annalise," Levi said, scratching the back of his head. "She's not usually this excitable around strangers. She must like you."

Annalise, the corgi, wagged her tail in agreement, her tongue lolling out happily. You couldn't help but grin at her, reaching down to pet her fluffy head.

Levi's presence was indeed intimidating, his tall frame looming over you. Yet, you noticed how he seemed to be trying to make himself smaller, almost as if he was aware of the effect he had. This made you feel slightly better, easing the unusual shyness that had taken hold of you.

"I have your locket," you said, regretfully tearing your hand away from Annalise to pull out the small package from your bag.

His eyes lit up with relief as he took the locket, cradling it gently in his hands as if it was the most precious thing in the world. "Thanks. I can't tell you how much this means to me."

You smiled, feeling a sense of satisfaction. "It's no problem, Levi. I'm glad I could help."

Just as you were about to turn and leave, Annalise decided she wasn't ready to say goodbye. She started barking at your feet, running circles around you.

Levi chuckled, his laugh a low, rich sound. "Looks like Annalise won't let you leave just yet. Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?"

The invitation was unexpected. Yet, the warmth of the cottage and the prospect of spending more time with Levi (and Annalise) felt inviting.

"That sounds lovely," you agreed, a small thrill of excitement coursing through you.

Stepping into Levi's cottage, you were instantly struck by the warm, inviting atmosphere. The place was filled with charming antiques, each holding their own piece of history. Levi, despite his obvious awkwardness, exuded a genuine kindness that made you feel at ease.

He led you to a small kitchen at the front of the house, his strides long yet unhurried. The kitchen was a pleasant mix of modern appliances and vintage decor. Antique spice racks lined the walls, holding an assortment of colourful jars. A vintage kettle whistled gently on the stove, next to a set of ceramic mugs that looked like they were from the Victorian era. A charmingly old wooden clock ticked away peacefully on the wall.

Unable to resist, you admired the antique items openly. "These are lovely," you murmured, reaching out to gently touch the ceramic mugs. "They're definitely Victorian, perhaps even from the aesthetic movement."

Levi looked surprised at your knowledge. "You know your stuff," he said, sounding impressed.

You shrugged modestly, a shy smile playing on your lips. "I guess working at an antique shop has its perks."

Throughout the exchange, Annalise followed closely at your heels, her tail wagging non-stop. It wasn't until you sat down at the small kitchen table that she seemed to calm down. Bending down, you ran your fingers through her fur, her eyes closing in contentment at the attention.

While Levi attended to the coffee, your eyes wandered around the kitchen, coming to rest on a collection of family photographs hung on the wall above the table. The black and white images depicted moments from a time gone by, telling a story that spanned generations.

The first photograph that caught your eye was one of a man and a woman. The woman was immediately recognisable – the same striking features from the locket, but she was years younger.Oddly, her eyes were normal in this photo. She was standing close to a man, presumably her husband, both happy and in love.

The second photograph was a group picture featuring a much younger Levi, flanked by his parents and grandparents. Even as a child, his striking blue eyes stood out. The older woman, his grandmother, shared the same unique eyes.

A third photograph showed a larger group - Levi along with multiple brothers and sisters. You studied each face, noting how most of them had normal eyes, except for Levi, his grandmother, and one of his sisters. You felt a strange chill run up your spine as you realised their eyes resembled those of the woman in the locket.

Your gaze lingered on the photographs, a whirlwind of thoughts running through your head. What was the significance of those distinctive eyes? And why did only a few family members have them?

Lost in your thoughts, you barely noticed when Levi placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of you. "Hope you like it," he said, his voice pulling you back to the present.

"I'm sure I will," you replied, turning your attention back to him. Yet, you knew that the mystery behind those unique eyes and the intriguing family photographs was far from being solved.

As you both settled at the kitchen table with your mugs of coffee, the conversation began to flow more naturally. Levi asked about your work at the antique shop, his questions revealing a genuine interest.

"I can't apologise enough for the hassle," he said, running a hand through his dark hair. "The locket wasn't meant to be in that box I sold to the shop."

"It's no hassle at all, Levi," you assured him, your gaze wandering back to the photographs above the table. "I was happy to come out here. Plus, I got to meet Annalise," you added with a smile, looking down at the corgi snoozing contently at your feet.

His lips quirked up into a shy smile, his blue eyes softening. "I'm glad you like her. She certainly likes you."

Changing the subject, you started to talk about his home. "Your house is beautiful. I love all the antiques you've collected; but isn't it difficult living this far out of town?" you asked, recalling the lack of a car outside.

"I manage," he replied with a shrug. "I get most things delivered, and I enjoy the quiet of the woods. And I..." He paused, seeming to consider his words. "I don't drive."

That surprised you. "Really? That's unusual."

Levi nodded, a bit of discomfort crossing his face. "I guess you could say I'm a bit of a shut-in. I prefer it this way." He quickly added, "it's not something I like to discuss."

Your curiosity was piqued, but you respected his privacy. Instead, you took another sip of your coffee, savouring the rich flavour. Meanwhile, a myriad of questions swirled around in your head – about the locket, Levi's family, his reclusive lifestyle, and those unique, piercing blue eyes.

After you finished your coffee, you checked the time and realised how late it had gotten. "I should probably head back, it's getting late," you said, standing up from the table.

As you declared your intention to leave, a soft lull fell over the room. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, rather a peaceful one, filled with the quiet ticking of the antique clock and the soft whistling of the wind outside.

"Of course," Levi nodded, his voice understanding, as he moved to lead you to the door.

Annalise, roused herself from her nap, tail wagging as she followed the pair of you.

Reaching the door, you could feel Levi's eyes on you, as if he was grappling with something. The slight furrow of his brows and the way his lips pressed together in thought hinted at an internal debate. Not wanting to rush him, you simply waited, your fingers brushing against the worn texture of the door.

"Grace?" he finally said, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room. "I... um, I was wondering... would you like to come by again? Maybe for another cup of coffee?" His words hung in the air, filled with hope and a little bit of uncertainty.

You felt a warm smile spread across your face at his words. Teasingly, you said, "That’s unexpected, especially from a self-proclaimed shut in." Your heart fluttered at the sight of a faint blush creeping up his neck, his blue eyes dropping to the floor in slight embarrassment.

"Well," he started, lifting his gaze back to meet yours, the blush still evident on his cheeks, "I am usually a shut-in; but, I think... I'd like to get to know you better, Grace."

The honesty in his words brought a sense of warmth to your heart. His confession, the awkwardness of it all, felt so genuine, so raw that it was endearing. His company had been a source of comfort to you tonight, in ways you hadn't anticipated.

"I'd like that too, Levi," you found yourself saying, the words coming out much easier than you thought they would. His face brightened up at your acceptance, a beautiful smile that reached his eyes, making them twinkle in the dimly lit room.

With a contented sigh, you stepped out into the cool night air, a sense of tranquillity washing over you. As you turned to wave him a final goodbye, you realised how fondly you were already thinking of Levi, this enigmatic man with a locket and a secret.

The drive back home was filled with thoughts of him and his charming little cottage, the locket, and those fascinating blue eyes. You found yourself already anticipating your next visit, wondering what other secrets and stories were waiting to unfold.

***

Over the next month, life took on a rhythm. The antique shop kept you busy, and the free time you had was mostly spent with Levi. Aunt Lucinda, ever the matchmaker, teased you constantly about your budding relationship, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Your time with Levi was usually spent at his cottage by the woods. He would show you his antique collection, each piece with a story to tell. Evenings were reserved for 'bad horror movie nights' - just the two of you curled up on his old, comfortable couch with a pile of snacks, laughing at the ridiculous plot lines and cheesy effects.

But amidst all the comfort and laughter, something was gnawing at the back of your mind - the picture in the locket and Levi's eyes. Every now and then, you'd find yourself looking at him, studying his face, trying to catch a glimpse of those odd, slanted pupils that you'd seen in the photograph.

One evening, you found yourself back on Levi's couch, beer in hand and a rather terrible werewolf movie playing on the screen.

As the moonlight filtered through the window, it hit Levi's face at an angle. For a brief second, you saw his pupils shift, resembling the ones in the picture. It was brief, but it was there.

Surprised, you turned to him. "Levi," you started, your voice cautious, "your eyes... they just..."

He seemed to understand what you were about to say, because he turned his face away from you, hiding his eyes in the shadow. The action felt heavy, like there was more to it than just a simple reflex.

The room went silent except for the terrible movie continuing to play in the background. You felt a flurry of emotions - surprise, concern, but above all, a growing curiosity. This man, who you had grown so fond of, had a secret. And you found yourself wanting to know what it was.

You watched Levi, the way his broad shoulders stiffened and his posture closed off. His face was turned away from you, shadowed and unreadable, but the tension in the air was palpable.

You could have let it drop. It would have been easy to return your attention to the movie, to ignore the sudden shift in the room. But looking at him now, the vulnerability he was showing, the shame he was trying so hard to hide, you found you couldn't ignore it.

"Levi," you began gently, turning on the couch to face him. You laid a reassuring hand on his arm, your fingers brushing against the fabric of his shirt. "Your great-grandmother had the same eyes in the locket," you continued softly, “and some of your family in the pictures too."

You felt him stiffen slightly at your words. The movie played on, but your focus was on Levi, on coaxing him out of his shell. This wasn't about idle curiosity anymore; you could see that he was genuinely worried, that this secret was something that he held close, something he feared sharing.

"It's okay, Levi," you murmured, your hand moving to gently squeeze his arm. "You don't have to tell me anything if you're not ready. I just want you to know that... whatever it is, it doesn't change how I feel about you."

At your words, you felt him relax a bit, his posture losing some of its rigidity. He still didn't meet your eyes, but he turned towards you a bit, a silent acknowledgement of your words.

You waited, giving him the space to process your words, to decide what he wanted to do. There was no pressure here, no judgement, only acceptance and understanding. You hoped Levi could see that, and that, whatever his secret was, he knew he didn't have to bear it alone.

After a pause that felt both too short and too long, Levi turned back to face you. As he did, you found yourself looking into his eyes again. They were different now. His blue eyes, always so captivating, were even brighter now, almost glowing in the dim light of the room. The pupils, the ones that you had only caught glimpses of before, were clear and distinct now - oddly shaped, almost like that of an animal.

Despite the initial surprise, you found yourself drawn to them. There was something wild and beautiful about them, something incredibly captivating. "They're beautiful, Levi," you found yourself saying, your voice almost a whisper.

At your words, he gave a soft, incredulous laugh, his gaze dropping to his hands. "You don't have to say that, you know," he mumbled, clearly not believing you.

“I mean it,” you replied, reaching out to brush a gentle hand across his cheek. “I meant it when I said you don’t have to tell me anything, too.”

“You deserve to know.” Taking a deep breath, as if steeling himself, Levi began to explain. "I'm not... entirely human," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Neither is any of my family. It all started with my great-grandmother. She was bitten by a werewolf."

His words hung in the air between you two. The idea, the reality of it, felt both strange and incredible at the same time. You had seen werewolves on the big screen, read about them in books, but the concept of them being real, of Levi being one, was something you had never imagined. Yet somehow… you believed him.

"It’s not like the movies," he continued, his gaze back on you, eyes glowing intensely. "It wasn't a curse. It became a part of her, a part of us. It runs in the family, you see. Some of us, like me, we have...traits we struggle to hide even in human form."

The confession hung in the air, his words wrapping around you like a cocoon, leaving the two of you in this intimate bubble of shared secrets and raw honesty. Despite the strange revelations, you found yourself comforted by his words, by his trust in sharing such a secret with you.

Your hand found its way back to his arm, squeezing gently in reassurance. "Levi," you said softly, "It's okay. I understand. And it really doesn't change how I feel about you."

Levi seemed to crumble at your words, his gaze dropping to where your hand rested on his arm. The glow in his eyes seemed to flicker like a dying flame, disbelief clear on his face.

Levi looked down at your hand resting on his arm. "Grace, it's more than just the eyes," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

He swallowed, a look of determination crossing his face. "Every month, I transform. It's painful, terrifying. My body shifts, bones snap, I’m not me anymore."

His words hung in the air, the room growing quiet except for the soft hum of the movie playing in the background.

"And it's not just the transformations. It's every day. Trying to keep my eyes normal in public. Trying to hide who I am."

He looked away, his hands clenching into fists. "It's why I moved out here. Away from everyone. It's easier to hide. Easier than seeing the stares, the questions."

Levi's words trailed off, his eyes distant. "I've lost so many friends...relationships...all because I couldn't hide who I am. I didn't want to put anyone else through that."

It was a self-sabotage, an attempt to push you away. But you didn't budge.

Before he could continue, you leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. It was a simple, comforting kiss. A way to tell him without words that you weren't scared. That you were here, that you understood. And that his secret, his true self, didn't change how you felt about him.

You pulled back, a soft smile playing on your lips. Levi sat there, still as a statue, his eyes wide with surprise. His bright blue irises, now faintly glowing with their animalistic slant, stared back at you. It was as if he was struggling to comprehend what just happened, unable to believe that you hadn't fled.

The silence in the room was palpable, the only sound being the muted movie playing in the background, creating an intimate bubble around you both. And then, after what felt like an eternity, Levi's eyes softened. Slowly, hesitantly, he leaned in and met your lips again.

This kiss was different. It started off gentle, mirroring the softness of your initial touch. His lips moved against yours, timid at first but growing bolder with every second. It was sweet and chaste, a mere taste of the affection you'd come to share.

His kiss grew desperate, his hands reaching up to gently cradle your face. He kissed you with an intensity that left you breathless, a raw hunger laced with a hint of vulnerability. His fingers tangled into your hair, holding you closer, as if afraid you'd slip away if he let you go.

It hit you then. The desperation, the raw need, it was a reflection of his isolation, his loneliness. He had been deprived of this – of closeness, of acceptance, of love – for so long. This realisation made your heart ache for him, made your resolve to stick by him even stronger.

As you returned his kiss with equal fervour, you hoped that he could feel it too, feel your promise. That you were here, and you were here to stay.

Pulling back, Levi looked at you, his eyes wide and questioning. There was a vulnerability in his gaze, a hope mixed with fear. He was waiting for something, seeking some form of assurance.

You realised he needed to hear it, to know that you weren't just going along with this, that you genuinely wanted this. So you took his face in your hands, locking eyes with him, and poured out your heart.

"I want you to know something, Levi," you began, your voice steady and clear. "I'm not here because I feel sorry for you. I'm not here because I think you need saving. I'm here because...because I care for you."

There it was, plain and simple. You watched as Levi's expression shifted, a mix of surprise and relief flooding his features.

"I like you for you," you continued, your hands moving to gently cup his jaw. "You're kind, you're intelligent, and you're incredibly sweet. Yes, you're a werewolf, and it's a big part of who you are - but it's not all you are."

You paused, letting your words sink in, watching as Levi's eyes flickered with an array of emotions.

"I'm curious, yes," you admitted, your fingers tracing the lines of his face. "That's because I want to know you, all of you. I want you to feel comfortable sharing your life with me, whenever you're ready."

His eyes searched yours for a long moment, perhaps seeking any sign of deceit. But all he would find was honesty, warmth, and an affection that had been blossoming since that first meeting at his front door.

"I want this, Levi," you said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "I want you. We can take this at your pace, alright?"

His eyes held yours for a moment longer before something seemed to shift within him. His shoulders relaxed, and a soft sigh of relief escaped his lips. "You know," he murmured, his fingers lightly brushing against your cheek. "I've wanted this since that first cup of coffee we had together."

His words hung in the air, and you felt a surge of warmth rush through you. This wasn't one-sided, he felt this too. His confession added another layer of intimacy to this moment, a shared understanding, a shared want.

"I've spent so long hiding..." he trailed off, his gaze dropping to your lips for a moment before meeting your eyes again. "It feels good not to. With you."

His words were like a balm, soothing any lingering doubts you may have had. You saw a spark in his eyes then, a glimpse of the man he was beneath the secret he had been forced to carry alone. There was a newfound confidence in his gaze, a certainty that hadn't been there before.

Before you could respond, he was leaning in, capturing your lips with his once again. This kiss was different, though. It was a promise, a claim. It was Levi, without the fears, without the reservations. It was pure, unadulterated emotion, and you found yourself lost in the sweetness of the moment.

The world outside ceased to exist as you melted into each other, the taste of his kiss the only thing that mattered. The whispers of doubts and the uncertainty of the future faded away. For now, it was just you and Levi, wrapped up in each other, lost in the beauty of this shared intimacy.

#exophilia #exophilia fiction #monster x reader #monster romance #monster boyfriend #tag: mxf #tag: male monster #tag: female reader #tag: sfw #tag: werewolf

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can0n-fodder · 5 months ago

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I've finally realized, after MANY years, that I just won't wear jewelry unless the item has some kind of sentimental value to me. It's not that I don't like jewelry--I love jeweley--but all the little trinkets I've bought over the years went unworn because, if they didn't mean something to me, I wouldn't think about them. I would just forget to put them on.

How I can "love jewelry" and simultaneously forget its existence is a mystery to me, but there it is.

So I have one ring I always wear; it was a gift from my aunt when I was 14. It was real gold and still had the $99.00 price tag on it. It was a weird gift. We didn't have the type of family that gave gold to children, and my aunt had never left the price tag on a gift before. I still wonder what the hell was up with that, but I never asked. I loved it, and it remains the only ring I care about. That I think about.

Now enter the necklace. I had no sentimental necklace. I tried over the years, plenty of times. Lockets with pictures, antique finds, birthstones; nothing stuck. They were all just THINGS I had bought. But then, the unthinkable.

I broke a thimble.

Or, better put, I wore out a thimble. I sew for a living, and for the past 8 years have used the same vintage EZ brass thimble I bought off ebay (modern thimbles are junk). One night, the metal finally worn down from the pressure of incalculable stitches, a needle went through. I can only imagine how much use this little piece of brass already had on its resume before landing in my hands.

But, alas, a dead thimble.

I tried to fix it at first. I thought to glue some tiny round piece of wood or hard plastic inside behind the hole and just keep stitching, but it was doomed to fail. I almost tossed it out; what good is a thimble with a hole in the top? I can't just keep it because it's been with me for 8 years, because it's kept my middle finger from bleeding as I hem yet another historical reproduction meant to pre date the sewing machine.

Or could I?

I finally have it, and I remember it almost every day. The new/old necklace I wear.

#writing prompt #jewelry #true story

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snowbellewells · 1 year ago

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CSSNS Fic: "Carolina Moon" {Chapter Three}

Oh my goodness!! I feel like all I do is apologize to you lovely folks, but I am truly sorry once again that it has taken me so long to update. This is a lengthy chapter at least, and we are really plunging into the meat of the action now. I could try to promise that you'll have the next installment sooner, but that doesn't seem to be the way my life is working lately. I'll do my best though.

In the meantime, I do hope you enjoy this one, and I'd love to hear what you think.

Thank you SO MUCH to @eastwesthomeisbest for the gorgeous cover art, and to @xarandomdreamx for being my beta. I am very grateful to you both.

Chapter Three: Fresh Starts and Stumbling Blocks

The following morning, Emma rose early to the sun on her face, streaming in warm and bright through the windows where she hadn’t yet hung curtains. A noisy mockingbird called brashly to his mate in the trees outside as she sat up, rubbing her eyes and pushing back the rumpled covers, resolving to go ahead and get an early start on the day. Though her body might still be weary, her mind already seemed fully aware and was running through all that needed doing before Saturday’s anticipated grand opening.

Standing and stretching out the cricks and aches, Emma sighed, shaking her head while she straightened the bed clothes as best she could over her mattress on the floor. It had arrived on time, with the other household items she’d sent with the movers from her apartment in Boston. But the antique brass bedframe she had ordered had yet to arrive. Still, she’d slept in the end, and she had spent so many nights in much worse discomfort, she could make do for the time being with an accepting shrug.

Trailing into the kitchen while yawning, Emma pulled an old terrycloth bathrobe over her oversize tee and shorts, threadbare and comfortably soft with years of washings, as she went. She reached up into the cabinet for her coffee, opened it and took a grateful whiff, before she grabbed a measuring spoon from the drainer to fill the coffeemaker. It was only as the life-giving brew began to percolate that she was startled by the sound of three crisp knocks on her front door, making her jump and jerk her robe more tightly closed as she spun to face it.

Not sure who would be calling on her so early in the morning - and when she had barely been back in town three days - Emma almost didn’t answer the summons at all. Still, she couldn’t help both her curiosity and the concern that someone could genuinely need her. She crossed the worn wooden floor of the simple kitchen and unlocked the door, pulling it open only to catch her breath in surprise at who stood on her porch. Emma couldn’t help stumbling back a step and unconsciously running a hand through her still sleep-rumpled hair, for what little good it did.

What was Cora Jones doing there?!? She cursed herself fruitlessly for wearing her most comfortable, but rattiest, pajamas and robe, and she floundered for something to say. Cora, meanwhile, seemed to only stand taller, an eyebrow arched as she looked down her nose at Emma much like she would something rotten which had been smashed on the bottom of her designer shoes. “Might I come in, Ms. Swan?” the older woman finally deigned to speak in frosty tones. “Unlike some people, I have numerous things to do this morning, and cannot afford to lounge around until noon.”

Emma caught a defensive retort on her tongue, biting it back with painful effort. If it were anyone else, she would have given them a piece of her mind, but this was Rose’s mother. Some small part of her, a skinny, lonely pre-teen who had never known a mother other than the proper Jones matriarch, still ached to prove herself to this woman. Oh, she knew it was impossible. It always had been, even before the awful day that forever altered her world. But deep within, that needy child wanted to please her best friend’s parent, to feel some semblance of a parent’s love for herself, and it would not be completely buried. So she held back speaking at all and simply opened the screen door still separating them, motioning Cora through.

Moving toward the kitchen table, Emma offered coffee and a seat, grateful that though the small piece of furniture was chipped and rickety, it was at least cleared and clean. Looking as if she would rather do almost anything else instead, Cora declined abruptly. “I’ll stand, thank you.”

Emma shrugged wordlessly, trying not to let the clear derision make her shrink. She was right where she was meant to be, intending to lay old demons to rest once and for all. She’d like to make peace with Mrs. Jones as well, but she also knew it wasn’t meant to be, and was not about to be run off. Not now, not after she had waited so long. Instead, she reached up into her cabinet again for a mug for herself, poured coffee into it with as steady a hand as she could manage, and forced herself to wait. Let Cora broach the topic Emma knew she’d come to discuss; she didn’t need to make the woman’s job any easier.

Much as though she had read Emma’s thoughts, the Jones matriarch’s eyes narrowed, and she raised her chin haughtily when she spoke, her voice a whip crack in the taut air of the quiet kitchen. “Let’s not pretend this is a social call. I’m sure you know quite well what I have in mind. It is merely a matter of how difficult you wish to make things.”

Emma merely hummed low in her throat, the slightest nod allowing that she had heard and understood Cora’s words, but still not answering aloud. Inside, she ranted, ‘Me?!? You’re the one making things harder than they have to be!’ But she didn’t give Mrs. Jones the satisfaction of needlessly protesting or taking the bait. She simply met the older woman’s stare head-on and held her tongue, biding her time.

“I do not want you here. Not on our family’s property, not in this town, nowhere near us. I trust you understand that much? Neither my children, nor I, want you around, unearthing painful memories again after all these years. I realize you have already leased space in town for your little shop, ordered merchandise and so forth…. So, Ms. Swan, what will it take?” As calmly as if she were discussing the weather or ordering a latte, Cora Jones withdrew a fine leather checkbook from her designer purse, poised with pen in hand. “Tell me what you need to pack up again and clear out of here, to start over elsewhere, and I’ll make out a check here and now.”

Unbidden temper flared in Emma’s gut suddenly, no matter how she tried to remain unaffected. No matter how far she had come or what she had made of herself, to people like this woman she would never be anything but poor white trash - a mess to be cleared away out of sight. Her presence made them uncomfortable or guilty or angry - she’d never quite decided which. And she was tired of it. She might not have come from anything, and she might not possess some fancy pedigree stretching back generations, but Emma was not nothing; she never had been. Pure, unbreakable steel seemed to fuse her backbone, bringing her voice and fighting spirit to the fore. She wasn’t for sale - not at any price - and it was time that “Her Highness” learned that fact.

“You must be mistaken, Mrs. Jones,” Emma replied, slow and plain, each syllable as intentional and measured as any of her adversary’s had been. “You seem to think I would consider relocating. Let me be clear: I’m not on the market. You can’t buy me out. You can’t run me off. Not this time. I’m staying.”

If she’d been at all in the mood to laugh, Cora’s perfectly painted mouth gaping open, then snapping shut in stunned disbelief would have been comical. As it was, Emma just kept staring her down, holding firm until the oldest money in Storybrooke had nothing left to do but withdraw. “This isn’t finished, Ms. Swan,” she hissed, her stare sparking dangerously like a match against flint. “You would be better off to take my money and make your way more easily elsewhere.”

Emma followed her to the door, arms crossed tightly over her chest as she watched those classy heels cross the warped board threshold. Anger had restored her nerve and then some as she clipped out, “Well, nothing’s ever been easy in my life. Why should it start now?” Facing off stonily with the woman she had finally, once and for all, given up trying to impress, Emma was determined that this time she would not be the one to crack.

Then, just as Cora stepped off the porch, Emma couldn’t help adding, “And, in case you haven’t noticed, both of your children are grown now. Maybe you should find out what they actually think before trying to speak for them.”

The older woman whirled, but Emma had slammed her door closed, ensuring the final word on the matter. She deflated quickly, falling back against the solid barrier bonelessly and trying to catch her breath, but it felt good to stand up to the woman at long last rather than taking any more judgment she didn’t deserve. She was sure Cora Jones wasn’t finished yet, but she had made up her mind. She was through running.

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Despite the upsetting and inauspicious start to her day, by the time early afternoon rolled around, Emma found herself pleasantly puttering about it her shop, humming to herself as she hung pictures in just the right place for best appreciation and then stepping back to take in the overall effect. Things were coming together nicely, and somewhere beneath the anxious concern she wouldn’t be ready in time and the only half-buried dread that no one would come to the opening because it was hers, Emma was beginning to feel proud excitement. She had found a real outlet upon discovering photography in college and had kept it up ever since, developing and honing her knowledge and skill in the art. In the quiet of the dark room and the simple, calm repetition of the developing process, Emma often found the whirling thoughts and visions that screamed inside her head went silent, a rare moment of peace as she worked alone to bring to light the images she had captured. Just as she had told Killian the previous evening, it was the one time she actually found a benefit in her ability to see more beyond the obvious existence on the surface. That she could bring out some aspect or nuance of her subject because of the burden she’d borne all her life was not really any sort of relief, but it felt like some tiny bit of restitution to make up for her trials as she looked around the gallery she was slowly forming, full of moments worth remembering, caught for as long as the pictures might last. She was gradually daring to hope that others as well would wish to glimpse the images she’d brought to life, ones which otherwise might have remained unseen.

She was turning to the back where she kept a small refrigerator to get a pop and take a breather when the bell over her door announced the arrival of a newcomer at her store front. Emma paused at the end of the long counter, turning to look over her shoulder curiously and prepared to greet the guest, but explain that she wasn’t open to customers quite yet. However, something about the young woman she saw standing just inside the door anxiously shuffling her feet and offering Emma a nervous but hopeful smile told her this one wasn’t there to buy framed photographs or picture-taking equipment, but had something else entirely on her mind.

Rephrasing the speech she’d had ready to deliver, Emma instead offered an encouraging smile of her own and inquired curiously, “Hello, I’m Emma Swan, the owner. How can I help you?”

Upon closer inspection, Emma could see the visitor was quite young, and clearly rather shy as well. She couldn’t be long out of high school, or college at the latest, and she blushed with another quick smile before looking down at her hands, then back up at her to answer. “Hi, I’m Violet Clemens. Fresh out of college actually,” she added with a self-conscious little giggle, “and new in town. I’ll start teaching art at the middle school here in a week or so, but I was wondering if you might need any part-time help here in the meantime. What with moving and student loans and all, I could do with a little extra income.”

Understanding dawned on Emma as the girl continued, and she seemed so genuinely sweet that it was impossible not to grin right back at Violet in welcome as she came forward to shake hands. It would really come in handy to have someone who could focus on manning the register and wrapping up purchases for customers while she focused on book work, restocking, and troubleshooting. Unfortunately, Emma had sunk nearly all she possessed in the move, leasing the space, and procuring the merchandise she hadn’t created herself; it might not be possible to hire on any help until she saw if she could start making back some of her investment.

She told Violet as much gently, making clear that she truly did regret having to be so cautious, but the younger woman easily understood. Nodding sagely, Violet took the disappointment in stride. Glancing out the large front window to the sidewalk, she shrugged good naturedly and gestured toward the large, rather scruffy, dog Emma just then noticed, tied by the leash to the bike rack and lounging on the cement with its tongue lolling contentedly. “It’s alright. Honestly,” she piped up, cheer still evident in her voice. “I knew it was a longshot, dropping in unannounced and all. But Norman and I,” here she beamed at the dog who seemed to sense her affection through the glass as his tail began slapping the sidewalk and his ears perked up, “were taking an afternoon walk, and I couldn’t help but notice your lovely store front - it’s really coming together, you know that, right? And I had to try. I’d love to work somewhere like this.”

As an afterthought, Emma quickly asked before Violet could leave, “I wish I could say for sure I could hire you. You seem like a wonderful fit, and I could use the help. I just need to see how things progress on the business side. Might you have a resume or a card you could leave? Then, if I’m able to hire later, I can call and find out if you’re still interested.”

Violet’s head was already nodding enthusiastically, even before Emma could finish speaking. “Yes, I do! Right here,” she chirped triumphantly, pulling it out of the shoulder bag she carried and then flushing slightly as she smoothed the proffered resume against her leg before handing it over. “I’m glad you’re willing to take a look at it. This will be such an intriguing gallery, and I need something that can fit around my hours at the school once classes are in session. Between you and me, it took nearly every cent I had to get me and Norman here, and it was worth a try to make a little money until my paychecks start coming regularly. But I apologize if it’s a bit rumpled - my partner out there can be a bit of a handful.”

Emma waved off the concern, not in the least bothered about slightly bent paper, and wishing even more that she had a definite opening. She remembered all too well just the spot this young woman was in - and she wasn’t that far removed from her situation even now. Instead, she grinned as they both looked out toward the irresistibly floppy-eared dog who absolutely knew he was being watched and leapt to his feet, tail wagging in excitement.

“He looks like a sweetie though, all the same,” Emma smiled indulgently, feeling a pang in her heart at the memory of all the times she had wished as a kid that she could have a pet of her own, particularly a dog that would have been by her side when she was alone and in need of someone to understand her and lend her comfort.

Violet nodded readily in confirmation, grinning at her dog as if he was hearing and comprehending every word. “Yeah, he really is,” she agreed, turning back to Emma once more. “Sad as it might sound, he’s probably my best friend.”

“It doesn’t sound sad at all to me,” Emma assured, thinking to herself that choosing to depend on such an inherently loyal and devoted creature made perfect sense - especially if one were alone in the world otherwise. Giving Violet Clemens one more hopeful promise that she would call if she was able, Emma began walking with her back to the door, before adding as the girl turned the doorknob and moved to step out. “Thanks again for your interest. If things go well, maybe we’ll see each other again soon.”

She stepped outside into the mild sunshine, turning her face upwards for a moment to drink in its gentle warmth. Then, with a curious nod toward Norman, who was wriggling and writhing with enthusiasm at both his mistress’ return and the proximity of a new friend, Emma hesitated only until the expected indication that it would be just fine before squatting to the dog’s eye level to scratch him behind the soft, velvety ears and accept a sloppy lick across her cheek.

“Norman!” Violet chided, even while giggling at the same time. “Really! You’ve no manners at all, bud. Sorry about that, Ms. Swan.”

Emma chuckled too, not at all put off, and the simple affection that flooded her at the dog’s sweet, uncomplicated reception made her want to wrap her arms around his neck and bury her fingers in his thick ruff of gray fur. “Don’t worry about it,” she assured, stroking the dog’s back and chest several more times before standing again at the protest of her knees and calves. “I pretty much asked for it,” she added good naturedly. “He’s a handsome dog, but unusual looking. What breed is he?”

Violet shrugged unconcernedly, stroking along the top of his head as Norman came to lean against her side, his head nearly even with her hip, and gazed at her with the sort of obvious and complete devotion that only a good dog could muster. “The people I adopted him from had an Irish Wolfhound that guarded their sheep, but they didn’t really know about the father - it wasn’t an intentional litter of puppies.” She gave a playful little “oops” sort of grimace to Emma before gently rubbing under Norman’s furrily bearded chin for a moment, crooning, “You were a bit of a surprise there, weren’t you, Normie?” to the dog. “Anyway, best the vet back home could figure, he’s some sort of wolfhound-shepherd mix. And he may be huge, but I’m pretty glad of it. He’s all bark, but it’s an intimidating one if someone is around who shouldn’t be. I feel a lot safer having him with me, that’s for sure.”

“I’d imagine so,” Emma agreed, nodding her head in easy agreement.

“Well, we’ll let you go for now,” Violet said, unlooping Norman’s leash from the bench and readying to lead the two of them off down the street. “Thank you for your time, and I’ll hope to hear from you, but I’m sure I’ll stop in again once you’re open, either way.” She gave an easy wave, which Emma returned, and then started away along the sidewalk.

Emma turned to reopen the shop’s door and get back to work inside when a strange movement caught her eye, seemingly in the alley between the law offices and the jeweler’s on the opposite side of the street. Squinting in concentration, she tried to focus on the dark blur she was certain had slipped through her peripheral vision mere moments ago, but without any luck. Whoever or whatever she had seen was gone, vanished into the shadow of the narrow space between the buildings, or - more likely - never there at all. Shaking her head, Emma re-entered her own building and returned to her unpacking, pricing, and display efforts, doing her best to put the strange sense of having been watched out of her mind, and to ignore the nervous energy crawling along her skin. There was nothing there, and she was being ridiculous.

Soon, she was swept up in her work again, and the pleasure at seeing the pictures all side by side and ready for viewing at last, the way the whole thing was taking shape, had shoved the anxiety from her gut, letting the warmth of pride and accomplishment take its place. She’d slipped into her own little world to such a degree that when David Nolan charged in a couple hours later, followed by Killian Jones, both of them projecting a sort of restless upset and overflow of adrenaline, she was startled enough to whip around with a surprised exclamation from where she was perched atop a ladder, hanging a large landscape she’d captured. She wobbled slightly at the sudden movement, and Killian was across the room in a blink, steadying the ladder with one hand, the other at the back of her calf - warm, strong fingers clamped around her leg impossible to ignore, and sending all breath whooshing from her lungs even as it restored her balance. The heat and pressure ran tingling all the way up her legs to the juncture of her thighs, feeling like a bubbling of molten lava at her core. Even when she had been deeply committed in a years-long relationship with Neal back in Boston, she’d never felt anything like the burning intensity that gripped her with the mere touch of Killian’s hand.

If the breath of shock that escaped him, his widened blue eyes meeting hers before they darted away, and how he withdrew several steps promptly when she moved to shakily descend the ladder, were any indication, he had felt it too. Emma could feel his gaze still flickering over her back as she turned to David with hands crossed over her chest, trying to gather enough air to speak normally, and asked, “What is going on? You two charged in here like the place was on fire and scared me half to death!”

That was a bit of an exaggeration, but she was trying to lighten the moment and deflect attention from her churning insides and the fact that her body’s reaction to Killian Jones was what truly frightened her most.

David bobbed his head in a sheepish nod of acknowledgement, his tense shoulders dropping only a bit, though he did have the decency to look apologetic. “Sorry about that, Emma. It wasn’t our intention at all. Just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Emma immediately caught his tone and the concerned, nervous energy radiating from both of them, even as they saw she was just fine and seemed to try to reel themselves back in. Tilting her head to study David’s face more carefully, she pressed warily, “Alright? Why wouldn’t I be?”

Killian stepped up closer to her side again, clearing his throat as he did, immediately upping Emma’s awareness further with his nearness, though he didn’t speak. David, meanwhile, shifted from one foot to the other restlessly, glancing away from her to meet his friend’s eyes before drawing in a deep breath and answering her question as calmly and succinctly as possible.

“I was notified an hour ago by one of my contacts in the city that Vic Franken - your former foster parent - has broken parole. He was facing five years for possession and reckless endangerment, but plea bargaining and so-called ‘good behavior’ have him up for parole sooner.” David’s tone and the practically audible air quotes in his voice made the huffs of disbelief and derision from both Emma and Killian seem all the more justified. “At any rate,” David continued, leveling his gaze on Emma seriously after a long-suffering sigh, “he’s in the wind, and it’s more than likely he would head this way. He might have been arrested elsewhere, but his last known address was here in Storybrooke, and he tends to return to what he knows. We’ve all borne witness to that pattern over the years.”

The sheriff paused there to both catch his breath and gather his thoughts. His well-muscled arms were crossed over his broad chest, almost looking as if he planned to plant himself right in front of her like some sort of stubborn protective barrier for the foreseeable future. The frown of consternation that marred his naturally open and amiable face completed the look all too well. Emma felt a surge of affection for Nolan at his obvious show of concern, and found herself wanting to ease his worry - even if the idea of her former abuser being on the loose and nearby had made a quivering fear run through her. She wasn’t trapped in a house with Franken anymore, didn’t have to deal with his presence any longer, and she was not about to let the idea of him reappearing rule her mind or emotions.

She gave a cool, measured nod, standing to her full height and making certain to look David right in the eye as well, not flinching for a second, no matter how much she wanted to. Waiting until she was sure there would be no tremor in her voice, Emma offered, “Thank you for letting me know so quickly, David. Truly. Being prepared is about the best defense I can have, as far as I’m concerned. Turning around to find him standing right there would be a hell of an awful shock to the system, but at least now I know to be on my guard.”

She wasn’t oblivious to Killian’s coming to stand just behind her, as if slightly flanking her against an attack, but she resolutely ignored it for the moment, determined to show she could face down the threat before her, regardless of the scars and horrific memories just the mention of Franken’s name brought flooding back. Facing David with fire in her eyes, she added reluctantly, “If he’s smart, he’ll run somewhere other than directly back here where he’s expected and bound to get caught. Still, we all know sensible, intelligent behavior is not the man’s leading characteristic, so I’ll be keeping a wary eye out. It won’t be the first time I’ve had to face him since I ran anyway.”

“What?!” David burst out incredulously.

Just as Killian swung around to face her with a hotly uttered, “Emma, what are you talking about?”

“He found me in Boston,” she shrugged, fighting to hang onto her calm air of nonchalance, even in the face of their volatile emotions. “Several years ago now. Startled me right in the street outside my apartment building - wanting money to stay out of my way and keep leaving me alone, essentially. It wasn’t a hard choice to pay it and have him gone. I was rattled that he was able to track me down, but he left, thankfully… and that was the end of it.”

Killian’s dark brows furrowed intently over his eyes that had grown stormy like a squall amidst the pretty ocean blue. Gently taking her arm to turn her to face him fully, his voice was quietly intense when he argued, “The end of it?! Are you serious, Emma? What are you thinking? He’s a dangerous man, particularly toward you, and you’re acting as though we’ve just told you something as minor as the weather for this evening.”

Emma gave him a cool look, not about to back down or fall apart in front of either of these men who were clearly concerned for her and expecting just that. She might feel as if her stomach was suddenly sloshing around like a sickening bowl of jelly, but she wouldn’t let Vic Franken take any more time from her or waste any of her concern. He’d made her early life a living hell - much more than Killian or David could imagine, whatever they thought they knew. It had taken years for her to stop biting back anything she might have noticed or seen for fear of being punished for her “unholy visions”. She’d looked over her shoulder, jumped at the slightest touch, been unwilling to accept the simplest compliment, continually unable to fathom that others might find her interesting, worthwhile, or important. It was still a work in progress, but she wasn’t moving backwards or scuttling to hide like some crawfish beneath its rock at the first hint of the man’s existence or mention of his name. She’d face it without flinching; he had no power over her now.

“I understand,” she finally gritted out as steadily as possible, eyeing Killian and David in turn, seeing that they took in her resolve. “I’ll keep my guard up, and I’ll call you the moment I see him - if I see him - but I’m not cowering or letting him ruin what I’ve worked toward. I have a store to open the day after tomorrow, and I’m not stopping for him or anyone else.”

David was already shaking his head, not liking her stubborn response, but being wise enough to recognize a battle he couldn’t win. “Well, see that you do. Keep your phone on you at all times. Try not to be alone any more than you have to. Call me anytime - day or night, whether I’m officially on duty or not, I mean that. We can’t ignore the facts. We may not have been able to do much to help when we were kids, but I’m not giving him a chance to lay a hand on you again, not on my watch.”

“Nor mine,” Killian echoed gravely, his voice a low rumble that shuddered through her pleasantly, no matter how she tried to ignore the effect. He was right there at her elbow, radiating anger, protectiveness, and something else delicious and unspoken which she didn’t dare put a name to. Even in the nightmare situation being threatened, a small, neglected corner of her thrilled at the sensation, savoring it for all it was worth.

“What? Nolan’s deputized you, and I haven’t heard about it?” she queried sarcastically, arching a sardonic brow at him in effort to hide just how touched she was by the care they both showed and the amount of comfort it lent her. Shaking her head, Emma regarded both men with knowing resignation, shrugging her shoulders helplessly. “Look, I appreciate the thought, but do you really think I don’t understand the danger here? Or that I plan to leave myself vulnerable again? I don’t. But I won’t stop living my life either. It’s finally mine, to live as I choose.”

“But Emma…” David began again, seeming to forget his earlier decision to abandon a futile struggle - at least until she sent a quelling look his way to freeze the words on his tongue.

Killian was undaunted though, and picked up where the Sheriff had left off. “At least don’t allow him to catch you all alone, Swan. You shouldn’t go anywhere by yourself until Franken is back in custody.”

She’d placed her hands on her hips then, facing off against him squarely, even as he stepped closer too, moving to cradle her elbow in his large, calloused hand, much as he would aim to soothe a skittish animal. That still didn’t keep her from countering frustratedly, “And just how long might that take? Who’s planning on uprooting his life to follow me around like a babysitter, you?” She shook her head wildly, seeing that he looked every bit as stubborn as she did. “You don’t have time for that - no one does. It’s not practical.”

“I’ll make time,” he shot right back, without so much as a blink or a moment’s pause. “Practical or not, it’s necessary, and you’re stuck with me.”

She huffed in dissatisfaction, but turned from him to plant her hands on the counter and force several deep breaths rather than continuing to fight - in front of David, no less - when they were both so riled up.

“Well, glad that’s settled,” David breathed out with a brisk energy, pointedly ignoring the obvious tension in the room and smacking his hands together loudly, as if to accentuate the issue being resolved. He tapped a hand twice on the sturdy counter in farewell. “Everyone’s looking for him; he won’t be loose for very long,” he predicted, giving Emma a bolstering smile. “Until then, you’ve got a little extra insurance, right? Just to be safe.”

Emma only offered a half-hearted grumble and roll of her eyes, but David unaffectedly allowed that to roll right off his back with typical good humor, slapping Killian’s shoulder on his way to the door.

Once they were alone, Killian turned to her with an exaggerated sort of leer and waggling brow, as if knowing she needed to lessen the anxiety surrounding them. “So, Swan, it would seem I am at your service. What would you have me do?” He leaned closer to her with the words, lending them a hint of temptation, especially when she could see his tongue swipe along his bottom lip seductively.

She had to tease him back; there was simply no other way her pounding heart and heated blood would allow her to respond. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she purred with a salacious wink, batting her lashes for added effect.

If possible, the heated expression on Killian’s face grew more scorching, little flames of awareness licking up and down her arms and all across her skin. Emma flushed involuntarily, knowing her response showed, and that realization only making her embarrassment and arousal climb all the higher. Her gaze fell to the counter in an attempt to escape his intense regard; eyes following her fingers as they fumbled over odds and ends lying about, scrambling to look busy.

Still, her head jerked back up at his response, unable to avoid eye contact when the warmth of his words washed over her, still lightly flirtatious, but no less sincere, as he answered, “Perhaps I would.”

There was no way she could question that he meant it honestly. Along with the ability to see things average eyes could not, Emma could also sense when someone spoke the truth, and knew most usually when the truth was withheld. She might have lost her faith in that skill for awhile; her emotions too involved where Neal was concerned to see he had not meant all he had promised, and her ability to interpret her visions compromised by heartbreak in the case that sent her city life and purpose crumbling down. But, for all of that, she could still read Killian with absolute certainty, like the printed font on the page of a book. In fact, he was the most unmistakably clear, open person she could remember facing since Rose herself. It was impossible to misread him, and more than that - though it set her heart to fluttering at triple speed - not only does she trust him, but she finds that she wants to.

Humming softly under her breath, she accepted his admission without further comment, and with a cryptic, quiet smile she turned to find something she could have him do to help if he was determined to stay.

Once started, Emma was pleasantly surprised to find that they settle into an easy rhythm working side by side. She carried on unpacking, but could direct Killian up on the ladder with hammer and nails to hang various canvasses and frames for display, rather than having to do it all herself. As the afternoon sun crossed the sky and began to lower toward the evening, they shared various stories from the years between since they had seen each other last. Emma spoke warmly of the professor who took her under her wing, a Professor Ingersoll, who showed her all she could about camera, angles, light and shadow, and taking a shot which could truly speak to the viewer once captured. The older woman had also given Emma a place to visit for a homecooked meal some evenings, shared her secret of topping cocoa with whipped cream and cinnamon to make it even more decadent, and had become almost a surrogate older sister in Emma’s eyes, beyond being a brilliant mentor.

Meanwhile, Killian spoke less often, but with a wistful fondness that drew Emma nearer, allowing her to see that though he had possessed the money, fine home, seemingly perfect family, and advantages she had not known, he still had pains and regrets, wishes and hopes he had not yet been able to make come true. As strange as it might once have seemed to her barely teenaged self, they had much more in common than what held them apart.

He spoke in easy, rolling vowels and smooth, deep rumblings of learning all that he knew at his father’s side, and of how much he had looked up to Brennan - practically idolized the man - until tragedy had brought him low and he had seen his hero crumble in his grief and vices. He even spoke falteringly of how he had blamed himself for not telling on Rose the evening before she had snuck out to her death. He had seen her bike - the one he then hated himself for teaching her to ride - hidden in the bushes at the end of the long drive, and had known she planned to slip away to some childish mischief after dinner. He hadn’t told, and it had eaten at him a long time, until he finally accepted that his inaction may or may not have changed anything, and that what happened to his sister was not his fault.

Emma had to press her hands between her knees to keep from reaching out to cradle his tormented face between her palms at that confession. Her heart ached for him; she knew all too well what it was to dwell on might have beens and take on portions of the blame not meant to be her own. She might have never planned to meet Rose in their spot that night. She might have made it there to face down the killer with her friend or fall beside her. But she was not the one who had taken Rose’s life, and whatever others thought, she had finally come to see that her actions had not made the horror come to pass.

At some point they had ceased working, settling together at tall stools behind the counter and talking as evening shadows stretched and darkened the burnished shades of a Carolina sunset. Still, neither was ready to bring an end to the gentle comfort between them; the chance to speak of things long bottled up inside and receive understanding rather than judgement in return. It was only when Emma’s stomach growled so loudly that they both stopped speaking, wide-eyed before dissolving into laughter, that they finally gathered up their things and left, locking up the shop and driving off in search of some dinner.

She still didn’t think it was truly necessary for Killian to shadow her everywhere she went like some unofficial bodyguard. Yet, she also couldn’t deny feeling safer in the knowledge that he was there beside her and watching her back. Once they had decided to take his truck and leave her VW there on Main Street for the night, they headed for one of the local drive-thrus. She would be right back at work tomorrow, after all, and the car would probably be safer there in the middle of town under streetlights and regular patrols of the local police than it would be at her rented cabin.

Clambering up into the passenger seat of his tall pickup truck, Emma still felt she ought to protest once more, just at the upset to Killian’s schedule, the inconvenience of leaving behind his routine and all the chores of his own he no doubt had to do, not to mention the awkwardness of spending so much time - and overnight, at that - alone together, no more than they really knew each other. As expected though, Killian would hear no further argument, resolved that making sure she was safe was the most important thing to him. Then he deftly shifted the conversation with a wink and easy grin, asking where she wanted to eat.

It wasn’t until they were traveling along the rutted back road well outside the Storybrooke limits, along the edge of the wooded marsh near the place she was renting, that the peaceful companionship of the past few hours was harshly shattered. They had been rolling along under the deep midnight-purple sky sprinkled with stars, Emma savoring the last few salty French fries in her packet from the local diner and Killian slurping the last dregs of his milkshake from his cup, when her world suddenly swirled away from her; disjointed scenes from somewhere else flashing and pulsing wildly behind her eyes and the sight she both dreaded and couldn’t ignore swept her up more violently than it had done in years.

Gasping in shock, Emma bent forward over her knees, screwing her eyes shut even as the images playing behind her eyes invaded her head, growing ever more loud and vivid. “Wait, stop!” she rasped desperately, one hand clenched in her lap as the other fumbled blindly for the door handle as if to escape. Her voice scratched out ragged and plaintive as she begged Killian, “Please, stop! Right here, please!”

Alarmed, Killian pulled the truck over to the shoulder and threw it in park. He moved to reached across and take the hand she had reflexively balled into a fist, but even as they had barely come to a stop, Emma was out the door, stumbling sightlessly into the overgrown ditch. Hurrying after her, Killian called Emma’s name futilely while rounding the back bumper and plunging after her, but it was as though he were somewhere else from her entirely, unseen or heard as her arms flailed wildly while she climbed out on the other side of the ditch and into the field beyond, weaving unsteadily toward the treeline.

“Emma, hold up!” he called, trying to make it sound like a command, though his concern for her and confusion at what was happening overrode his intentions, making his voice echo shakily in the still night air. He jogged to catch up with her, abandoning any further entreaties that she was clearly past hearing.

Just as he reached her, Emma fell to her knees, hands on the hard-packed earth barely stopping her from falling flat on her face. Heaving, she seemed to be either struggling to catch her breath, or trying to purge nausea at whatever she saw that was invisible to Killian. She shook her head violently, almost clawing at the earth as she rocked back and forth on her knees. Not knowing what else to do, Killian reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder, then when no protest came, to rub it up and down her back soothingly.

Some minutes passed, minutes that felt like excruciating hours to Killian as he waited, not certain but hoping she would come back to him. At long last, Emma seemed to still, her rocking motion calming until she nearly slumped against his side, drained. For several interminable seconds neither spoke, until Emma suck in a harsh, rattling breath and jerked upright, her eyes popping open as she finally came back to herself fully.

“Shh, shhh, Love… take it easy,” Killian crooned, trying to pull her back to his side and smooth her hair back from her face as she scrambled backwards and began anxiously trying to regain her bearings. “I know you’ve seen something awful… but you’re back now, aye? You’re going to be alright.”

But Emma’s eyes were wide as they focused on him, finally seeing him there before her. “No,” she mumbled, her voice struggling back to life. “No, it won’t be alright at all.” Grabbing his hand and holding on tightly, she stared at him as if pleading for him to believe her and beggin his forgiveness at the same time. “I saw her, Killian. Some poor young girl… hitchhiking on this same stretch of road. He pulled over, gave her a smile… She didn’t know anything was wrong…” Emma’s breath hitched, but she pressed on. “She fought, but…but she couldn’t get away. I was seeing it t-through his eyes…” She shuddered before her voice dropped even lower, “No feelings, no remorse, just drinking in her terror… like it was before. That monster killed her. I saw it.”

The green of her gaze pierced his chest, causing Killian to struggle to breathe as well when she finally managed to tell him, “He killed her just the way he killed Rose.” Emma trembled all over as she finally let Killian gather her in his arms, though he was shaking now as well. “Rose wasn’t the only one. She was just the beginning.”

Tagging a few who may enjoy: @cssns @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @xsajx @sotangledupinit @winterbaby89 @bluewildcatfanatic @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @the-darkdragonfly @xarandomdreamx @booksteaandtoomuchtv @bdevereaux @caught-in-the-filter @anmylica @stahlop @hollyethecurious @artistic-writer @motherkatereloyshipper @jonesfandomfanatic @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot

#cssns23 #cs ff #cs fanart #CS au mc #Carolina Moon #chapter three

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thetoaddaddy · 4 months ago

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@historias-multorum ❤️ for a wedding thing with Shizune!

Spring wedding! When all the tree flowers bloom.

Full on embracing the small town vibes. Wedding by some flowering trees. Maybe a lilac or rose tree. Vibrant colours to make such a happy day bright. Red and yellow. To not make it tacky it would be a deep rose red and a pale yellow.

A mix match of decor styles. More vintage looking items like stain glass vases and painted ceramics. Gold antique garden chairs. Lace style table cloths. Brass lanterns, the type that spear into the ground and have the spiraly hook that the lantern hangs onto. Nothing really matches but is on the colour scheme.

Classic bride and groom wear for the ceremony. But a change for something that matches the theme. Its a glamorous nod to the era Jiraiya grew up in but never really partook in the fashion or parties. Inspired by the turn of the century when kimonos started to kinda modernize in big cities and suits and dresses were introduced. So a suit and dress to mix it up. Especially since both Jiraiya and Shizune wear traditional clothes normally. If ur gonna dress up for your wedding might as well do it a little over the top. Wedding party matches the vintage vibes. Guests are asked to wear something of similar style but no biggie if they couldn’t find anything.

Again pretty traditional for the ceremony. A small ensemble to play the expected music for an old fashioned ceremony. Some less traditional aspects are there too. Like the outside venue under a tree and more modern vows.

Reception in the village. Town square vibes. Done up with lights and heaters. A bar and the lay out temporary floors for dancing. First dance to something just as on theme as the rest of the romantic vintage. Like Day by Day.

A cute series of toasts from loved ones.

#🌺 ooc #playing around (ask game)#historias multorum

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localravenclaw · 7 months ago

Note

Hello there! For the ask game: 15 and 28 Have a nice day!

Thank you so much for the Ask, bb! ♡♡♡

15. what do you think of when you hear the word "home"?

as cheesy as it may be, it's my partner. We've moved around a bit together but things never feel too different no matter where we live because of him. He makes everything easier for me and I could gush about how absolutely wonderful he is forever and ever!

28. do you collect anything?

ooh, I collect a bunch of stuff! Both my parents are collectors of antiques. My mum collects antique china and silverware, and my dad collects antique weapons. So naturally, I started collecting antiques myself. 😅

I have a small collection of antique gold jewelry and precious stones. I also collect rare plants and expensive perfumes. But my true pride and joy are my turtles. Every country I visit, I bring home a turtle-themed item, mostly figurines. The older the item, the better. I have an old brass turtle from Cambodia that's probably older than my dad.

#ari answers #ari × serp

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lia-the-normal-human · 9 months ago

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Database Additions for MAGP 07: Give and Take

Released 22 Feb 2024 Episode written by Alexander J Newall Edited by Jonathan Sims

Episode summary from The Magnus Database

SPOILERS BELOW CUT

CASE

CAT2RC3338-03022016-12022024 Agglomeration (miscellany) -/- congregation [email] Read by Chester

Parties mentioned: C Clayton Derek Chambers Dianne Margolis Man Who Threatened Dianne Margolis with a Gun Oxford Peoples Trust OPT Volunteers Security Firm That Handled the MAGP 07 Case

Locations mentioned: Hilltop Centre

Misc objects mentioned: Abstract canvas artworks Ancient diving suit filled with sawdust Bearskin rug Bloodstained china Brace of half-butchered pheasants Broken picnic hamper Chaise longue filled with coarse sand Curved brass telescope Dark glass chandelier False plant in a shouting human face pot Gramophone and religious plainsong records Grandfather clock leaking dark oil Jar of imperial coins Jars of pickled hands Leather kite Old dental retainers Old medical equipment Rocking horse Rope Rusty antique printing press Swords Taxidermied vulture Tin bathtub of moldy food Two soiled crinoline dresses Vandalized Encyclopedia Britannica Wheelbarrow of shifting fossils

Other Parties Introduced

John

Other Locations Introduced

None

Other Misc Objects Introduced

None

Connections/Item Relationships Found (New)

None

Voiced Characters

Alice Dyer Celia Ripley Chester Samama Khalid Colin Becher Gwendolyn Bouchard Lena Kelley Klaus

Database

The Magnus Database has been updated for this episode.

#record #the magnus protocol #tmagp spoilers #episode #magp 07 #the magnus database #idk what possessed me #to fricken #include every donated object

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bookkeepersnake · 8 months ago

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EP 7 - Give And Take

Celia thinks the system is straightforward

“Better than muchink about it with tape recorders and manilla folders…”

Wants to look up specific case files (being buried alive, meat…)

Jon statement

Tender of resignation

Hilltop center brand of oxford peoples trust

Appointed in 2015, resigned 2016

MAG34

Unable to recall name or find any evidence of him, no prior experience or identification

“Knows Hilltop center better than anyone.”

Punctual, hardworking, cheerful, donated large fake plant in human face pot

Friend wishes to volunteer

Woman whose details also cannot be recalled, donated bearskin rug

Too much laughter

“Its all for a good cause”

More friends wish to help

Next two donate large dark glass chandelier and oversized gramophone with religious song records

Records of all volunteers lost

Four more added, donates crudely carved rocking horse, grandfather clock that leaks a dark oil, heavily vandalized set of encyclopedia britannica, and extensive collection of abstract canvas artwork.

Opened shop without keys

Additional items: soiled crinoline dresses, shays long with sand filled cushions, taxidermy vulture, rusted antique printing press, and collection of old medical equipment (recently used)

Laughter

Additional items: leather kite, curved brass telescope, wheelbarrow full of fossils, armload of swords, lengths of rope, tin bathtub full of moldy food, stack of old dental retainers, brace of half butchered pheasants, jars of pickled hands, ancient diving suit filed with sawdust, broken picnic camper, bloodstained china, jar of imperial coins,

Limbs torn by unseen edges (spiral)

Gunshot from unseen location, taking out nameless laughing volunteers, accompanied by roar of flames

Constant shifting

Heavyset man in black clothing with a gun, saved subject?

Security firm, NOT working for employer

Fire was an ‘accident’

OPT investigation

Mr. C. Clayton

Throughout the statement there is the sound of a clock ticking? gears shifting? every 7 seconds

Celia ‘thrown’ by Jon’s voice

Asks about who voices them, recognized him

Sam goes to see Colin

Sam asks who Jon was “John who!” “Great question. I got a word email from Jon with a random name and an address, and it looks like it's from an internal email.”

“You’re gonna freak when you see the real stuff”

No external electronics

Colin fights Sam??

(it’s) already recorded too much

Gwen shows Lina video of her trying to kill Clause(?)

Informant singular

Masters plural

External liaison

#the magnus archives #the magnus protocol #magp7

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universitypenguin · 2 years ago

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Hey Alice :) this is prob a weird question but what kind of car do you think Lloyd drives? We know he’s luxurious so I can see him in something sleek and sporty like an Audi or another European make car

Also how do you envision Lloyd’s house? Is he particular about his decor? Is he the type to be in to antiques or more modern pieces of furniture

I think Lloyd would drive something expensive, but also nondescript. I’m picturing a Mercedes-Benz sedan. It would probably be gray or black. I can see him in a few different models. If he was being conservative, he’d have bought a mid-priced model like a C 300. If he was in a spending mood when he bought the car, he’d have gone for the pricier S 580 4MATIC.

He likes the performance of German engineering and the powerful throttle of the motor. It’s an added bonus that in the D.C. metro, the car blends into the sea of other luxury vehicles. The reason he’d never consider a smaller, sporty model, like an Audi R8 or a BMW M4, is simple. You can’t fit a dead body in the trunk. He’s not planning to commit a crime, but proper preparation prevents poor performance. And when you need to move a dead body there’s no room for error.

Lloyd sticks with a roomy sedan that has plenty of space in the trunk. He keeps it stocked with a shovel and a large box of kitty litter. In the Virginia climate, those items don’t attract much notice. They’re snow storm essentials and he keeps them next to the emergency kit with blankets, water, jumper cables, and a tow chain. But a shovel and kitty litter is good for more than just getting traction in an ice storm, you know? 🫣

For his house, Lloyd lives across the Potomac from D.C. in Old Town Alexandria. He chose the house because it’s less than 30 minutes from the office and the charm of the cobblestone streets appeals to him.

The neighborhood he picks has a brick wall and wrought iron gate facing the street. To get to his house, you have to park in a lot down the street, and then walk down the block to the courtyard gate. The gate isn’t locked but it’s another layer of security - something that would slow down an attacker. Inside the gate is a cobblestone courtyard with Beech trees in the middle. There are five townhouses in the courtyard neighborhood, two on the right and two on the left, with another at the back.

Lloyd owns the inner property on the left side. He likes the location because he’s insulated from every possible angle. The gate protects the front and the courtyard access gives him a view of anyone approaching. Both sides are covered by the other row houses and the brick wall hiding the common area means no one can see much beyond the small gate. The large trees prevents overhead photos and the lack of a garage door further secures the location.

For decor, he paid a decorator to fix the place up. She went for a mix of antiques with modern touches, with a subtle nod towards costal styles in the color palette. The walls are a neutral white, to better showcase the eclectic artwork she chose for his home. She went with the traditional set of wingback chairs, a structured sectional sofa to anchor the room, and a jute rug in the living area. His coffee table is a simple design made of reclaimed elm wood and the end tables are mismatched. One table is made out of distressed gray wood and the other is polished brass.

The decorator gave him plants to tie it all together. He has a fig tree, a Japanese maple, and a ficus. There are potted plants in every room, and he loves how they liven up the place. Looking at them makes him feel like he’s at home. That’s in addition to the herb garden with mint, basil, chives, and tarragon, that she installed in his kitchen window. He has to admit, the herb garden is one of his favorite touches. He uses it almost every day.

The kitchen is thoroughly modern. It has a wide island down the middle and cabinets on both walls. The quartz countertops are durable and crafted to look like marble. Having lived in flats with marble counters in the past, Lloyd has no interest in getting the real thing. They’re too easily scarred. He has a farmhouse sink, with plenty of elbow room to peel potatoes and stack up dishes. On the end of the kitchen is his formal dining room with a table that, when extended, seats fifteen.

His bedroom has one of the best antique pieces in the house. The Italian Renaissance walnut headboard has hand carved Foliate Scrolls and a matching footboard. He has it restored and styles it with a green jacquard bedspread. The decorator finishes the look with antique tea tables for the nightstands, and places an overstuffed chair and a reading lamp in the corner. She installs a wall of floor-to-ceiling black out curtains to prevent the east facing windows from waking him up at dawn. On the windows themselves she adds bamboo shades to bring another texture to the space.

And despite his protests, the decorator puts more plants in the bedroom. Lloyd can’t help but leave them there even after she’s gone. They just… work. He’d never have put them there on his own but the morning sunshine makes the Christmas cactus bloom every three months and turns the climbing vine thing into the picture of health within days.

A year later, when it’s time to decorate the guest room and the sun porch, he re-hires the same woman. This time, he hands over his credit card and tells her to follow the same process she did the first time.

#penguin replies #Lloyd’s car and house ask #Lloyd Hansen #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x princess #lloyd hansen imagine #Lloyd Hansen ask #lloyd hansen fanfic #the gray man fanfiction #the gray man fanfic #lloyd hansen x reader #the princess and the lawyer: ask #series: the princess & the lawyer #the princess & the lawyer

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godesssiri · 3 months ago

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Thrifting antiques and valuable vintage.

I have an 8 foot high shelf in my living room. It’s huge and it’s packed full of gorgeous goodies. I would estimate that there’s easily $10,000 on those shelves – a grand a shelf + a bit extra because I have a pair of stupidly valuable vases that I could sell for $3000. Have I actually spent that much to acquire those items? Hahahahahahahahahahaha! No. I’m not rich, what I am is a dedicated thrifter who has learned to pick the treasures from the trash. Here are my best tips:

1.Pick things up, turn them over, look for maker’s marks, snap a pic and do a google image search, with a lot of them you can narrow down when something was made to a 10-20 year time-frame. Is the item heavier than you were expecting? Antiques are often heavier than new productions because they’re using better quality materiel or just more of the materiel because it was cheaper back then. Look for signs of wear, has the paint or plating rubbed off over time? Unless you like that look steer clear of really worn items, the fact they’re so worn detracts from the value and indicates they weren’t that high quality to begin with. You can learn and awful lot just by picking something up off the shelf.

2. Hand painted items. The stupidly valuable vases? Are exquisitely hand-painted. I got them for 30 bucks and almost had a heart attack when I did a google image search. I’ve got several hand painted things that I’ve picked up for cheap and could easily sell for 10 x what I paid for them. Look for fine painting, things that are intricate and detailed, not blobby. There is a HUGE collector’s market for hand-painted Chinese export porcelain that's over about 50 years old at least.

3. Antique books. A lot of people don’t place value on old books and tragically A LOT get thrown in the trash or cut up by crafters (if you are an artist who uses old books in your work, I’m BEGGING you to look at the publication date before you cut the pages out unless it’s already so damaged there’s no saving it). Anything pre-1950 there’s a collector’s market. Anything over 100 years old is officially antique and is a treasure. I have 3 books that were published in the 1700s and the most I’ve paid was $50, one of them I got for $10 – because the sellers didn’t bother to google the title and author and figure out exactly how old the book was. Since at least the early 1800s most books have had the publication date printed right there in the front so it’s super easy to figure out if the book in your hand with a 50-cent price tag is a genuine antique.

4. Pairs. Things are always more valuable as a pair. So, if you have the chance to buy a pair grab them. The stupidly valuable vases are more valuable as a pair – a single sells for $1000. Or if something was once part of a pair and there’s a chance of you coming across another one then it’s well worth it to make a new pair. I will always grab a single foo-dog/temple-lion because I have made up pairs from 2 singles and it instantly increases the value. The same goes for sets of things. I’m slowly putting together a set of 6 Libby cactus margarita glasses and when I have a full set I’ll probably sell them because I need the space and I have other glasses I like better – but I won’t sell until I find number 6 (I’ve got 5 and it’s driving me insane waiting to find the last one) because an even numbered set is worth so much more than an odd number.

5. Solid brass. See above re. picking things up and feeling for the weight. Solid brass is a lot heavier than hollow and is worth a whole lot more. Next time you’re in a thrift store and there’s a bunch of brass pick up different things and feel the difference in weight, you’ll find a huge variance between similarly sized items. The heavier ones also tend to have finer details which is another indicator and quality and value – not always but most of the time.

6. Details. Speaking of fine detail, up until fairly recently the more finely detailed something was the harder it was to manufacture, therefore the higher quality it was, so always keep an eye on the details. Look at how anything that came from a mold is shaped – are the details sharp and clear or are they a bit blurred and blobby, does it have a visible seem? If something is carved is the carving detailed and smooth or chunky and rough? If something is jointed together, are the joins tight and straight or is there a gap or a crooked join? Look closely and see how things have been made. Good quality is easy to spot when you look closely.

7. Be prepared to pay up. Sometimes you’ll come across things that are pricey by thrift store standards but they’re still a fraction of what the item is actually worth. I have a malachite trinket box. I paid $45 for it and was hesitant to spend that much. But I looked it up and similarly sized boxes brand new are about $150. I’d always wanted a malachite box but there’s no way I’m ever gonna spend $150 on one. But $45? That fits into my discretionary budget for something I’d always wanted. I love Majolica pottery, but it is very very expensive so when I’m able to thrift it I’m willing to pay up – thrift store prices are still just a fraction of antique store prices even when they know they’ve got something special and have priced it on the higher side. And I have picked up some incredible bargains, like a plate for $10, when most of the plates in the store were in the $1-$5 range, but if they’d slapped a $20 price-tag on it then it still would have been a bargain because the same plate from and antique dealer would have cost me $50.

8. Know what you’re looking for. If you love a certain type of antique or vintage collectable, then research research research. Create a pintrest board and pin 10 zillion examples of that that thing until you can identify one in the wild just by a 2 second glance. Read up about when and where it was manufactured. If you see it in antique stores for way more than you’re willing/able to pay still go looking because seeing it in person helps you to learn what to look for when you’re thrifting. Look at listings online and read the descriptions, follow online auctions to see what it goes for, so you know when you find it and it’s way under-value, or maybe there won't be many bidders and you can score a bargain. You can search for things on Ebay then sort by sold listings and that’ll tell you what collectors are actually willing to pay so you can make a realistic offer to a dealer who has it way overpriced. I research a lot, and I know to swoop on a Victorian Bristol glass vase for $7 because it’s actually worth $50, or a Famille Rose vase for $5 when it’s worth $80 (I have a vase addiction OK? I’m aware of it, I have no interest in seeking treatment for it).

9. Search specifically and also search broadly. When you’re looking online it’s great to enter very specific search terms because even if you don’t find things you can afford, you’ll learn a lot. And sometimes you do find exactly what you’re looking for at a reasonable price. If you’re willing to put in the time, it’s also well worth it to keep your search terms very broad. One of the antiques I love is Chinese export Famille Rose porcelain. Yesterday I literally just typed ‘Chinese’ into FB Marketplace and scrolled through hundreds of listings because I figured if there was someone out there who didn’t know exactly what it was, they would at least be able to tell it was Chinese and they might have it listed as ‘Chinese porcelain’ or ‘Chinese figure’ or one I found was ‘Weird little Chinese dude’. I currently have 4 figurines on their way to me that are worth about $200 all up and I spent less than $40 including shipping – yes, I bought the weird little dude. I’ll often just type in ‘Antique’ and set a range of how far I’m willing to drive and just see what cool old stuff is available in that range – often people don’t know what they’ve got but they know it’s old so they list it as antique and you can pick up ridiculous bargains cause they don’t see the value in the item and just want it gone but want a few bucks for it.

10. Pick what you love. In the end it doesn’t matter if something is incredibly valuable if you think it’s ugly. I keep the stupidly valuable vases because I love them and enjoy looking at them on my shelf. I could flip them for a profit and if the day ever came that I really needed to then I would. But it didn’t cost me much to have that beauty in my life and I’m gonna keep it until I’m good and ready to let it go. The more you indulge your own tastes the more discerning you become and the more you’re able to spot treasure in the trash. My favorite aisle in my favorite thrift store is the one where the staff shove items that they think are rubbish. I’ve picked easily a thousand dollars worth of antiques from that aisle in the last year alone because they were things that I liked – things that made me go: Ooh that’s something special.

#thrifting #thrift shopping #dream home

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eyelixir · 1 year ago

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Welcome to Sin Rambles About Something Bizarre because I went down a very interesting rabbit hole last night about Swords, namely the Holy Moonlight Sword.

I'll open with this question; have you ever wondered why the sword is green in its transformed state? I'll admit, this probably doesn't seem like something worth questioning in the grand scheme of things, though the fact a moonlight themed sword was represented with teal-green always stood out to me as being quite novel. Even so, the ethereal vibe such a weapon demanded was still efficiently imparted, so I didn't really dwell on it beyond that.

That is, until I saw this bronze sword and its unusual green hue which instantly conjured up some potent imagery of the HMS for me.

It goes without saying this sword isn't supposed to be green-we have the build up of verdigris on the bronze to thank for that much, but the colour of verdigris, especially in concentrated amounts, is a particularly striking one; so much so indeed that it has been used since antiquity as an actual pigment for artistic use. But what's most striking and most delightful about it to me is how much these (very pretty) verdrigris-coated swords resemble the HMS.

Now, obviously I'm not trying to imply that the HMS is just an antiquated sword that has a poisonous film of pretty crystals on it- especially when the sword in the story's context is obviously arcane in nature and can change form and colour at the wielder's will. But it did get the thought going of whether there was some merit to the idea that maybe the metal the HMS was made of has any signficance. Namely, if it could contain bronze, and why that would be thematically and mechanically significant.

Metals are in fact given some considerable spotlight and importance in Bloodborne's lore, after all. In the descriptions for items from the Old Hunter set and the Decorative Old Hunter set, we are treated to the following insights:

"Old hunter garb decorated with brass trinkets."

"Old hunter gauntlets made of brass to protect their weapon-bearing hands. At the time, some hunters believed certain metals would guard off beast blood."

So, brass was widely considered to be effective at warding off the beastly scourge and the infected blood in the days of the old hunters. We can see echoes of this superstition remain even during the events of the player's journey through Yharnam, given metal plates are still prominently featured in the classic hunter gear on the boots and gloves. The executioner's garb also features a considerable amount of brass rivets on its respective gauntlets.

But the phrasing here implies there were multiple metals that were held in a similar regard besides just brass. In which case, it's not too much of a stretch to imagine that bronze might be among them, and in particular, this might correlate to the material that the HMS is (at least partially) constructed from.

Pursuing that train of thought, I went diving for some historical and religious accounts of the use and importance of bronze throughout the years, and I was not disappointed with what I found.

Firstly, bronze has a surprising amount of religious importance and symbolism, being mentioned numerous times in biblical passages and almost always in association with God, his quarters and the deliverance of divine justice. Bronze is described and thought of as a "wall between the individual wielding it and the corruption of the material world"; this is a very striking statement given the HMS is what brings clarity back to Ludwig even at his most bestial and inhuman state-it restores his sense of humanity to him, severing him from his beastly corruption at least in spirit if not in body.

Furthermore, specifically in Revelations: 218, a double edged bronze sword is described as being a "symbol of the word of God" and his ability to pass judgement and mete out divine punishment. Broadly speaking, bronze in biblical context is a recurring symbol of strength, justice, resilience and purification, as well as of judgement and punishment. All remarkably fitting themes for our favourite sword and its wielder, if you ask me, as his story hits upon each of them to a T.

Whats more, bronze is traditionally used in the making of bells due to its desirable properties, like the hardness of the metal and the quality of sound and resonance that it is able to produce. Bells made of bronze are meant to be more durable and create a clearer, stronger tone. It's still used even to this day for church bells and hand-tuned bells.

I find this tidbit quite interesting given bells are another iconic staple in the world of Bloodborne. I think its a safe assumption that the bells we are all familiar with, such as our summoning and beckoning items, are probably made of bronze with this fact in mind. The artwork even features that signature verdigris colour on some of the bells you can collect!

The fact that bronze is prized as a bell-making material for its potent resonance and sound also ties well with the themes and uses of bells in Bloodborne; these items are meant to cast out a chime that can be heard across space and time itself, used as a tool to connect to and cross over to other realms, or summon things from them to our own. In the more superantural context of Bloodborne's universe, where metals are assigned and demonstrate more superstitious/arcane properties, the logical through-line would be that bronze in this world is a potent channel for the arcane-namely the sort of magic concerned with summoning and communicating with other worlds or otherworldly entities.

Meanwhile, the Holy Moonlight Sword is a literal arcane powerhouse of a weapon imbued with the power of the cosmos that even potentially was "speaking" to Ludwig-or rather, something was using the sword to communicate with him. He famously addresses the sword as his mentor, his guiding moonlight, and whatever was speaking to him from within it or through it even bestowed upon him (or transcribed for him) the Guidance rune. Needless to say, something was certainly using Ludwig's signature sword to make contact with him.

The English description of the sword reads: "When blue moonlight dances around the sword, it channels the abyssal cosmos." So-a sword that can channel the cosmos, paired with bells that can echo across the cosmos to contact other worlds. The sword is quite possibly not entirely dissimilar to the bells in that regard-it opens a channel to another world, or at the very least draws power from it, but through that channel, another entity is able to make contact with the wielder.

Interestingly, whenever the wielder wishes to transform the blade, they must pass their hand over its length which then causes the blade to resonate with a chime-like tone, and the flush of arcane light swiftly follows. Perhaps the sound that resonates from the blade, much like the resonance of a hunter's bells, is what truly summons the Holy Moonlight Sword's Arcane power and facilitates contact with the cosmos. I'll admit relying on a basic animation for this theory is potentially a logical leap though, especially given we are told moonlight is what activates the sword-but I find the implication and correlation an intriguing one all the same!

But I digress. If the HMS was indeed bronze, or an alloy of bronze such as silver-toned White Bronze which contained much of the same metals in its composition, then this trait could match up well with the communicative properties of bronze bells in the Bloodborne universe. The sword is made of a metal that allows it to behave as a literal conduit through which the cosmos is able to channel its power, and through which powerful unseen entities are able to make their voices heard. That the sword was found in Isz makes even greater sense with that in mind, as Isz of course is the realm most strongly connected to the kin, the cosmos and the arcane, as well as Daughter of the Cosmos herself, Ebrietas. The sword may have even been a tool in antiquity that was used and designed to actually communicate with the Great Ones more efficiently.

Am I completely sure about any of this being definitive or intentional? Not at all! Nothing is certain in the mysterious world of Bloodborne, after all. But it was a really fun little rabbit hole to dive down into, and I hope this likewise was a somewhat fun and interesting read that developed from which.

#sinsights #(interesting too that bronze is an alloy of copper tin and silver)#(and if we are going by this theory's logic that in this universe bronze is a conduit for the arcane)#(in elden ring gold is the exact opposite and actually forestalls the meddling of outer gods....HMMMMMM)#(all this to say sin got obsessed with a sword covered in poisonous crystals and went off to study it)#(thats adhd for u folks LOL)#(I THINK IT WAS WORTH WHILE THO......THIS WAS INTERESTING TO LOOK AT)#(i dont know if anyone has discussed this before lmao PROBABLY TBH IM LATE AS HELL TO THIS FANDOM but still...)

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